I LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. I 

t.TV^ ^ I 

# # 

I UNITED STATES OP AMERICA. | 



2^ in^vD^^" 

LITTLE SHELLS 



ma:ny shoees, 



iiPiL^j 



BY 



MRS. E. A. W. HOPKINS. 



SAN FRANCISCO: 
Bacon & Company, Printers, Excelsior Office, 

No. 536 Clay Street. 
1872, 






Entered accordiyig to Ad of Congress, in the year eighteen hundred and sevcnty-tivo, 

BY MRS. E. A. W. HOPKINS, 

In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 



PREFACE. 



TO THE SUBSCKIBERS IN ADVANCE. 



A severe family affliction prevented the publication of this 
work in April — as I had promised yon. Out of the delay, the 
increased necessity for economy, and difficulties which could 
not properly be explained on this page, has arisen the change 
of publishers. 

The Poems contained in this volume are selections from 
manuscripts, old and new, and clippings of my own, from jour- 
nals to which I have contributed for many years, in some half 
a dozen States and under a dozen signatures — " Mrs. C. B. H.," 
"E. A. W. H.," etc., etc. 

In selecting for the book, I have remembered that my 
friends are persons of varied attainments and tastes ; and 
while I aimed to please many, have hoped to offend none. 

Perhaps the volume may not inaptly be compared to one of 
our California highways — with its big and little stones, its 
sticks and straws, old tin cans, and broken bottles ; with here 
and there a tiny grain of gold. As it is, I commend it to your 
generosity. 

AUTHORESS. 



INDEX 



not. 

Little Shells from Many Shores 9 

Evening and Morning of the Battle of Antietam .... 10 

The Herdsmen's " Good Night ! " 16 

The Silent Passenger 19 

Life 24 

Poets Love Poets 28 

I Do Not Like to Hear Him Pray 31 

Woman the Foe of Woman 34 

The Unseen 36 

Creeds 40 

A Prayer 43 

Crushed Hopes 45 

Planting a Tree 47 

.Planting a Tree "The Wrong End Up" 48 

Bread and Butter 50 

The Sign of the Widow McCree 59 

The Washing Bill 65 

Better Out of the World than the Fashion 75 

Twin Spirits *.,... 77 

Spies ! Spies ! ! Spies ! ! ! 79 

The World 81 

Nobody 84 

" Ups and Downs " 86 

The Thirst for Fame 88 

How to Please Everybody 91 

Before and After Marriage ' . 94 

"O! It is Hard, Link after Link" 99 

When Will the Morning Be? loi 



Vi INDEX. 

PAGI. 

Nay, Never Sav, " Poor ! " io3 

" Root On ! " 106 

Nature 108 

Farewell! no 

The Careless Word m 

Life's Under Current 113 

God Over All "6 

Sunshine Friends, 117 

The Secret "8 

Early Marriages • • • 120 

"It is Nothing to Die if You're Noted" 121 

"Found Dead!" 123 

" Serpents in the Grass "....,.'..- 125 

Heart Life in California , . 126 

Confidants ! 129 

Nobody Wants You Long 131 

A Prayer for Peace 133 

Modern Charity 134 

The Critic 135 

The Prayer of Washington 136 

How Can I Forgive? . . . ^ 139 

The Poet's Lot 140 

Life's Work is Never Done 142 

The Passing Year 145 

My Western Home 147 

"The Heart was so Hollow Inside" 150 

The City of the Fleas 154 

"Something that was My Mother's" 158 

Fall of the Charter Oak 163 

The Human Brow " . . 165 

" I Thank Them for Their Scorn " 168 

Letters 170 

What Do We Strive For? 173 

Great Men Never Die 174 

The Drayman's Horse 175 

They Want to Know ijg 

"Tom Jones" 182 



INDEX. vii 

" Spirit Rappings " 207 

Doctor Gray's Lecture on Phrenology 220 

Retribution 230 

The Three Brides 242 

The Battle Field 264 

Life's Changes 273 

Wyoming - 277 

Honor of Labor ' . . 283 

Deacon Hezekiah 287 

Rev. John Elliot Preaching to the American Indians . . . 289 

The Greenhouse Plant 291 

To an Unknown Friend 295 

Dusty California 297 

Home to the Sick 299 



LITTLE SHELLS FROM MANY 
SHORES. 



E 



ITTLE SHELLS from many strands, 
Bring I you with loving hands ; 
Rosy shells of pleasures fled — 
Broken shells of hopes long dead, 
Silvery shells of life's proud prime — 
Tear-stained shells of later time, 
Gathered with a smooth, young brow- 
Gathered when as dark as now ; 
Looking back to long ago, 
Forward through the falling snow, 
Almost where the two worlds meet, 
Lo ! I lay them at your feet. 



lo LITTLE SHELLS, 



EVENI>fc AND MORNING OF THE BATTLE 
OF ANTIETAM. 

"The hostile lines lay close to each other; their pickets so near that six rebels 
were captured during the night. The great battle commenced early next day." 

A corn-field here, a wheat-field there, 

A hill-side green and gray, 
A gracefiil wood, a meadow fair, 

A town, a public way ; 
A river spanned by bridges three. 
Four miles of water, wood and lea, 

In smiling sunset lay. 

As cities in the far-off light, 

Our vision doubts as real ; 
Now looming o'er the sea of white 

With spires of glittering steel ; 



BATTLE OF AN T IE T AM. n 

Now lost beneath a darkling wave, 
Now rising from their shadow grave, 
Then gone, as all ideal. 

As evening crossed with tempest bars 

A moment, then a glow, 
And bursting with her myriad stars 

From heavy clouds below ; 
Two armies rise, and fall, and pass j 
A surge of ink — a wave of glass — 

And melt away as snow. 

One is the North ; resolved and stern, 

She spans those vales and steeps, 
The lightnings of her anger burn. 

While love reluctant weeps ; 
She hears to-morrow's dismal tramp, 
Just o'er yon Orient 's dark and damp. 

That counts her crimsoned heaps. 

One is the South ; impassioned, wild, 
With hot and feverish breath ; 



J 2 LITTLE SHELLS. 

The friend estranged, the wayward child, 

That seeks her mother's death ; 
With desperate threats and bloodshot eye, 
And murmuring still her battle cry, 
She halts upon the heath. 

Soft as a gentle mother's thrall, 
That all her babes entwines ; 

Soft as the angel footsteps fall 
When day's bright orb declines ; 

Came sleep, and showered leaves of balm 

O'er North and South— her holy calm 
Encircling all their lines. 

The white-lipped Morn rebukes the dark. 
And pensive smiles again ; 

Ascending sings the early lark, 
And skims the upper main ; 

Soft peeping through a clouding veil, 

The sunbeams come, aslant and pale, 
And kiss the dew-gemmed plain. 



BATTLE OF ANTIETAM. 

Sons of the North ! — sons of the South ! 

As brothers, close ye slept ; 
The same tree-shadow touched ye both, 

As East at eve it crept ; 
The same good angels watched ye there, 
Then, lifting up for each a prayer, 

On Mercy's threshold wept. 

Each silver thread that spans the blue, 

And trembles on the corn. 
Rekindling all the hills anew, 

Salutes ye, "brothers born ;" 
One father's own electric thrill 
In all your veins, unites ye still, 

O hearts asunder torn ! 

How can ye wake to strike again, 

Or fan your bosom's hate ? 
Why doom afresh to grief and pain 

One last night's sleeping mate ? 
Oh ! by one country's lingering woes ; 



13 



14 



LITTLE ,SnELL,S. 

Oh ! by one Saviour's dying throes, 
We pray — we warn ye — wait ! 

As trickling drops of homestead wells 
When rise the buckets slow ; 

Or murmuring bees in flowery dells, 
Is fair Antietam's flow. 

But — hark ! a war note's dismal sound ! 

Air, earth and heaven at once rebound, 
And ring it to and fro. 

It was, as if all fearful things 

In every dark retreat, 
Had started up with flapping wings, 

And tramped with pond'rous feet ; 
As if all discords, born of hell. 
Condensed in one wild, thrilling yell. 

Kept time with heavy beat. 

It was, as if all earthly power 
Had hardened into stone. 



BATTLE OF AXTIETA:\L 

While hideous Murder ruled the hour, 

And laughed upon her throne ; 
As if all Heaven looked down and smiled, 
While human blood the earth defiled, 
And shimmered in the stm ! 



15 



1 6 LITTLE ,S HELLS. 



THE HERDSMEN'S "GOOD NIGHT!" 

When 'mong the Alpine hills the sun 

Hath left the vales in shade below, 
And glimmers like a jeweled crown 

Upon the arching cliffs of snow : 

The herdsman of the loftiest height 
Takes up his horn, and shouts aloud : 
" Praise God, the Lord ! " and swift as light 

Comes echoing back, " Praise God — praise God !" 

A hundred herdsmen catch the strain, 
And shout the words with horns anew ; 

The rocks take up the loud refrain, 
And solemn caves repeat it too. 

Along the hills the cadence steals. 

And quivers o'er unnumbered streams. 



THE IIEiiDSMEX'S GOOD XIGIIT. 

Till every heart the influence feels, 
And nature's self hath holier dreams. 

" Praise God, the Lord ! " O man of years, 
For fearless heart, and tireless hand. 
For gladsome hours, for sorrow's tears, 
And faith to see the "better land." 

" Praise Him," O maid, for beauty's blush ; 

" Praise Him," O youth, for thou art strong ; 
" Praise Him," O matron, for the hush 
Of peace upon thy hearth so long. 

" Praise Him," O child, for sky and flowers, 
For verdant moss and clambering vines, 
For love that guards thy mountain bovvers, 
And sets thy feet their boundary lines. 

Lo ! deeper shadows climb the rocks, 
And dewy night has set them there ; 

Uncovered as their silent flocks. 

They bow their heads in secret prayer. 



'7 



1 8 LITTLE SHELLS. 

All nature joins ; with reverent hush 

The mountain wind suspends her breath ; 

Young leaves, that fluttered on the bush 
In ceaseless play, are still as death. 

" Good-night ! " again the horns resound, 
And many a voice as one replies, 
Till echo, circling round and round, 
In silvery cadence sweetly dies. 



THE SILEXT PASSEXGEll. 19 



THE SILENT PASSENGER. 

With its inanimate and living freight 
The noisy train whirls on. 

And happy hearts 
Beat lightly as the buzzing wheels speed by 
The meadows and the corn ; the orchard fair, 
With all its goodly trees of blushing fruit, 
Its foliage spinning ribbons as we fly, 
Its fence a quivering cord ; the homestead meek. 
Its windows muslin-draped and wreathed with vines. 
The lazy house-dog, sleeping in the sun, 
Upstarts a moment to his feet, with one 
Deep, sonorous bark, and then two lesser notes. 
And folds his limbs again. The maid steals out, 
With broom in hand and apron o'er her head, 
To see this daily show, which comes and goes 
As the cloud-shadow flitting o'er the grain. 
As the loud thunder shaking all the plain. 
And here the village, in its white and green. 



20 LITTLE SHELLS. 

Its lettered doors, its awnings, and its wealth 

Of shawls and ginghams fluttering in the wind, 

Comes smiling up to meet us in good haste ; 

The whistle shrill cuts sharply on the ear ; 

The brakeman 's at his post ; the ponderous wheels 

Upon their axles turn with lessening speed, 

And slowly cease to sound. The school-boy stands 

And counts the number of the graceless cars, 

With sweet, blue eyes a-stare ; the mountaineer, 

Who for this sight alone has come to town, 

Pushes his way along, exclaims and smiles. 

Lo ! what a crowd is gathering where we halt, 

A pleasant show of faces, earnest all, 

And glistening eyes which speak a " welcome home ! 

Seek out the friends so dear — the new-arrived. 

Hands meet in friendly clasp, and trembling lips 

Give blessed recognition, murmuring low. 

The walking groups move off; there, too, upspring 
Light, joyous footsteps to the waiting seat 
In the old family carriage — that is gone. 



THE SILENT PASS'EXGEJR. 

We, too, are happier, though we know them not. 

For homes await in distance even us, 

E'en us — poor travelers ! we shall soon be there. 

But see, as breaks the close and motley crowd, 

Those wagons blocking up the village street. 

Behold ! that hearse with plumes of inky hue. 

With solemn drapery and steeds of white. ' 

It backs toward the train, and careful men 

Lift down a burden thence ; and soft within 

They set it down in silence ; and a moan, 

A bitter moan of human agony. 

Unheard amid the earlier rush and press. 

Arrests the ear, as from the car behind 

A group of mourners, wrapped in dusky weeds. 

Come forth, and pass beneath our window slow. 

To meet them comes another stricken group, 

Who waited in the coaches on the left. 

Two hoary heads bowed with the weight of grief, 

Two strong young men, three women in their prime. 

Whose tears flow fast, whose forms like fragile reeds 

2# 



2 2 LJTTLE SHELLS. 

Bow to the blast of woe. Those meeting groups 
Glide in together, as long-severed streams 
I'hat burst their banks and seaward roll as one. 

Yet, in their sorrow, one doth claim their care 
To whom all turn with tender, deep regard — 
A girl-like creature, robed in widow's weeds, 
With modest beauty gleaming through her tears. 
" Our daughter " — " sister " — " be our hearts thy home ;" 
" Thy Henry "— " mine ! " " oh, God ! support us all ! " 
She's gently folded to his father's breast. 
Her young head nestles in his mother's arms. 
His brothers clasp her to their heart of hearts. 
His sisters sweetly kiss her tears away. 
" Poor Henry ! " passes round from lip to lip 
Till strangers weep to hear. 

"All hands aboard ! " 
The strong steed gathers up his slackened might. 
And forward springs again. Behind us far 
That hearse is moving, with its mournful train 
Of aching bosoms to "poor Henry's" home — 
His boyhood's happy home. 



T UE SIL EXT P. t SS EXGE I! 



23 



So goelh life. 
Its countless travelers all as one rush on, 
Yet each within his bosom holds a world — 
A world of joys no other understands, 
A world of cares no other shoulders bear, 
A world of griefs sealed at their fountain-head, 
No other hands can trouble in their depths, 
Nor eyes can weep away. 

And breaking hearts 
And pulseless bosoms mingle with the throng. 
Unquestioned and unknown. The widow mourns 
For her lost love alone ; the aged sire 
And stricken brothers feel their griefs apart ; 
The mother's " Henry " hath her visit lone, 
Her sorrowing, last "good-night," ere "dust to dust ! " 
She for the living lives and smiles again, 
But o'er her dead in stealthy silence weeps. 

Forever onward rolls the living tide, 
Though drop by drop is lost beside the way ; 
Cold Business scarcely falters in his speed 
To leave the Silent Passengers at home. 



24 



LVrTLE SJIF.LLS. 



LIFE. 

When first the mother clasps her child 

With all a mother's joy — 
A hallowed guest, that undefiled 

And velvet-fingered boy ; 
When first she feels the throbbing heart 

Which on her bosom leans, 
And kisses off the tears that start 

As soon as life begins ; 
Then, could her vision pierce the sheet 

Enfolding all his doom ; 
Perchance to watch his restless feet 

Throughout a path of gloom ; 
Could she foresee the thorns and snares 

That wait his hurrying steps. 
That toil must come, and anxious cares 

Seal darkly brow and lips ; 



LIFE. 

Could she foresee his heart astrain 

Till quivers all its chords, 
While human monsters mock its pain, 

With keen, insulting words ; 
Would she not kiss her baby's brow 

With wild, beseeching prayer, 
That God would take the darling now 

Home to His heavenly care ? 
Home, ere a drift of passion crossed 

That forehead's placid snow — 
Home, ere a wave of anguish tossed 

The bosom lake below ? 

When first the father sees with pride 

His petted lamb progress 
In knowledge, growing at his side 

To statelier loveliness ; 
With all the ways, so sweet and coy. 

Which render childhood dear, 
Ere nature blends with art's alloy 

Our household jewels here ; 



25 



2 6 lATTLV: s]ii-:lls. 

Had lie the power, for once, to tear 

The veil from future years, 
And see that hearthstone idol bear 

Its load of grief and fears ; 
Before his dearest hopes were crushed. 

His glories turned to dust ; 
Ere scorn his notes of gladness hushed, 

Or treachery mocked his trust ; 
E'en as he clasped that clinging one 

Yet closer to his breast. 
How would he pray the morning's sun 

Might shine on him at rest — 
A't rest, the things that perish here 

Beneath the friendly sod — 
Mute lips — clasped hands — the shroud — the bier 

The spirit safe with God. 

What art thou, Life ? A fearful race 

For kings and slaves of kings ; 
A weary hand, a fruitless chase 

For moth and shadow-wings ; 



LTFF. 

The rainbow gilds the hours before, 

To fade whene'er we come ; 
The darkness of the past, in store, 

Looms forward to the tomb ; 
No bosom Hfe is e'er revealed, 

Till all its hours are sped. 
Oh ! tearful history, wisely sealed 

Till all that dies is dead ! 
Then, where no earthly discord jars 

Upon the calm sublime, 
The angel of the eternal stars 

Unclasps the Book of Time. 
" The Roll of Time ! " his voice proclaims- 

The startled worlds bow down ; 
The nations answer to their names, 

And every soul his own. 



27 



28 LITTLE SHELLS. 



POETS LOVE POETS. 

Poets, in your bosoms hiding 

Love no other bosoms feel, 
Lone and wearily, abiding 

•Midst the hearts to you of steel ; 
Looking back o'er time's dark surges, 

Dreaming of the years to come, 
Till from fancy's mould emerges 

Wondrous forms of joy or gloom. 
And the present sweet, or sorrow, 
Only rims the great to-morrow. 

Poets by the world derided. 
Crowded, jostled, yet alone. 

Link from kindred link divided, 
Wed to souls of other tone — 

Souls that pity your endeavor, 



POETS LOVE POETS. 

Now, to set aflame the spark 
Which shall struggle on forever 

Through the future's gleam and dark ; 
Souls that chafe to see ye keeping 
Vigils when the world is sleeping. 

Poets from the world inditing 

" Thoughts that breathe and words that burn,' 
Poets, all too meek for writing, 

Singing in your heart's deep urn ; 
Night-dew on your foreheads glistening, 

Reverent treading path and sod ; 
Child-like on the green-sward listening 

To the under-tones of God ; 
Watchers in the dim room sitting, 
Deeds your prayers, where life is flitting. 

Poets hear ! and answer truly : 

Whatsoe'er your names or lots, 
Whomsoe'er your friends, that duly 

Share your palaces or cots ; 



29 



so 



LTTTLE SHELLS. 

Maids, or men to love that win you— 
Mother, sister, brother, wife. 

Lives there not one cord within you. 
Deep within your inmost Hfe, 

Voiceless, tender, sad and lonely, 

Whispering " love " to poets only ? 



I DO XOT LIKE TO HE An IIDI Pi?. IT. 31 



I DO NOT LIKE TO HEAR HIM PRAY. 

I do not like to hear him pray 

Who loans at twenty-five per cent., 
For then I think the borrower may 

Be pressed to pay for food and rent. 
And in that Book we all should heed, 

Which says the lender shall be blest, 
As sure as I have eyes to read, 

It does not say " take interest." 

I do not like to hear him pray 

On bended knee about an hour. 
For grace to spend aright the day, 

Who knows his neighbor has no flour ; 
I'd rather see him go to mill 

And buy that luckless brother bread. 
And see his children eat their fill. 

And laugh beneath their humble shed. 



32 



LTTTLK SHELLS. 

I do not like to hear him pray 

" Let blessings on the widow be ! " 
Who never seeks her home, to say 

" If want o'ertakes you, come to me." 
I hate the prayer so loud and long 

That 's uttered for the "orphan's weal," 
By him who sees him crushed by wrong, 

And only with f/ie lips doth feel. 

I do not like to hear him pray 

With face as long as any rail, 
Who never means his debts to pay. 

Because he can't be put in jail ; 
For caution asks the written bond. 

But friendship trusts the word alone ; 
And he 's a knave where'er he 's found, 

Who never comes the debt to own. 



I do not like to hear her pra}', 

With jewelled ears and silken dress, 



I DO XOT LIKE TO lIEAll IIIM FHAY. 

Whose washerwoman toils all day, 
And then is asked to "work for less." 

Such pious " shavers " I despise ! 
With folded hands and airs demure 

They lift to Heaven their " angel " eyes, 
Then steal the earnings of the poor ! 

I do not like such soulless prayers ; 

If wrong, I hope to be forgiven ; 
No angel's wing them upward bears — 

They 're lost a million miles from Heaven. 
I do not like long prayers to hear, 

And studied, from the lips depart ; 
Our Father bends a ready ear — 

Let words be few — He hears the heart. 



33 



34 



LITTLE ,S HELLS. 



WOMAN THE FOE OF AVOMx\N. 

Woman the foe of woman — can it be ? 
Woman should be all love, all charity ; 
No dark suspicion through her soul should steal- 
She should go forth to comfort and to heal ; 
To cheer the tempted as they strive to stand, 
And if they fall, to give a helping hand ; 
To scatter flowers in the path of woe, 
Is woman's mission to the world below. 
Should she fling serpents in a sister's face, 
Or her pure lips be linked with her disgrace ? 

God doth uphold thee, who is over all — 
He, in His wisdom, lets thy sister fall ; 
God is the judge of both — let her beware, 
And glory not, whose feet escape the snare ! 



1V0:\JAN THE FOE OF W03IAX. 35 

Hast thou not sinned ? say, in some evil hour, 
Has no wild passion sought thy bosom's bower ? 
Has no black line that bosom's whiteness crossed ? 
No waking virtue in a dream been lost ? 
Hast ^/lo/i not sinned ? O, ponder and defer ; 
When f/ioi/ art pure ^ first cast a stone at her. 

Woman relentless, iron-browed and stern, 
Watching her sister's steps at every turn 
Of life's sad way, with loud, indignant calls, 
Bidding the world to " brand her " as she falls, 
Is not true woman, though she bears her name, 
For the true woman mourns her sister's shame, 
Steals to her chamber when the world's asleep, 
Not to upbraid her, but with her to weep ; 
Kisses the lips by agony made white, 
And whispers "Jesus" with her soft good-night. 



LITTLE .SHELLS, 



THE UNSEEN. 

A whisper in the inward ear, 

As south winds in the flowers sigh ; 

A vision floating in the clear 
Cerulean of the spirit's eye ; 

Foretasting of a coming bliss, 

Foreshadowing of a bitterness, 
A call when none is nigh. 

A strain of music soft and low, 

As morning breaks the web of dreams, 

And forms that rested long ago 
Go out, as in the daylight streams ; 

It was their breath that swept our hair. 

They smiled and Beckoned in the air, 
Then hid in morning's beams. 



'I' HE VySEEX. 

As noon appears, with florid face 

And stifled breath we seek the shade, 

To muse in some sequestered place. 
Which love or grief hath sacred made ; 

Where murmuring brook and singing bird 

Alone the waves of sound have stirred, 



Since verdure clothed the glade. 



E'en there, as zephyrs part the leaves, 

And sweep the blossoms with their wings, 

We hear a voice ; it chides or grieves, 
It whispers low, it softly sings ; 

A shadow trembles on the grass, 

We list to hear a footstep pass ; 
What hand that leaflet flings ? 

And oft as evening shadows steal 

O'er meadows green and hills of brown, 

The mystic mingling with the real, 

White fingers part the Day-God 's crown. 

Familiar faces smile ; between 
3 



37 



38 LITTLE SIIELLf<, 

The rosy sunset's pencilled sheen, 
The loved and lost look down. 

Yet gazing there with yearning sight, 
A fairy ship attracts the view ; 

We see her climb the waves of light ; 
With gauzy sails and shadowy crew, 

Fast onward o'er the darkling deep 

She hurries with mysterious sweep, 
And trackless leaves the blue. 

Fair wanderer ! whither goest thou 
So stilly in the ethereal main ? 

She makes no sign — she's fading now — 
Her crew have shrunk to specks again. 

Far where the shimmering sunset dies 

Her sails fade out ; our weary eyes 
Seek her dim port in vain. 

Oh ! voices hushed so long in death. 

And forms beloved we 've missed so long, 



THE UNSEEN. 

Why hear we still in under-breath 

The floating fragments of your song ? 

Ye live ! ye live ! it must be so ; 

Unseen ye come, and whisper low 
Amidst the angel throng. 



39 



40 



LITTLE f^IIELLlS, 



CREEDS. 

What countless creeds are based on One who died. 
Though all for pardon seek His bleeding side ; 
One prayer ascends from every bended knee, 
' ' Our Father ' help us, as we trust in Thee." 

One Hand we see in every change below, 
The winds obey Him and the lightnings know ; 
The earthquake comes obedient at His call, 
The city sinks — centurial columns fall. 
The sea upheaves a continent to light. 
An Isle is born — another sinks in night ; 
He " turns and overturns " from pole to pole, 
Upholds the stars — yet stoops to save a soul. 

As / have loved thee, even unto death, 
Love thou thy brother, the Redeemer saith ; 



CI? E EDS. 4, 



Defer to him thy interest and thy will, 

And though he wound thee, by thou faithful still ; 

Rejoice with hint — in sorrow be thou there, 

Put thy own shoulder 'neath his load of care ; 

If hungry, feed him ; is he thirsty ? give 

From thy own well-spring, bid him drink and live. 

Who is thy " brother ? " ponder well the word ; 
The poorest servant of the common Lord : 
Where'er he dwells, whate'er his faith or name, 
The bond fraternal holds ye both the same. 
Let neither claim the right to lead and rule. 
Nor "judge" his brother, nor pronounce him "fool." 
" As a man thinketh," say ye, " so is he ; " 
As a man doe^/i so his end shall be. 
Prove \\vj faith better by thy better deeds 
Than his thou doubtest, nor contend for " creeds." 



Creeds are of earth ; we lose them in the strife 
With the last Foeman of our mortal life ; 



42 



LITTLE SHELLS. 

One " welcome home ! " awaits the good and pure 
Where prayers and' rituals and all tears are o'er. 
Jesus ! thy jewels, born of every faith, 
Bear but one value in Thy blood-bought wreath. 



.1 FUAYEIi. 



43 



A PRAYER. 

Help me, O, God ! to bring at last to Thee 
A soul as pure as human soul may be ! 

If in the flush and vanity of youth 
I turned me lightly from the path of truth ; 
O'er softer nature pride's cold mantle hung, 
And calmly smiled when grief my bosom wrung ; 
Gave answer lightly to the child of care. 
And hurried on scarce noting her despair ; 
The toiling student met with haughty brow, 
Nor said " my brother ! " — God forgive me now ! 
Passed on, nor heard a mother's warning voice, 
To festive pleasures wildering glare and noise ; 
Bent low to catch the whispered words of praise, 
Nor heeded Thine who claimed those better days 



44 



LTTTLK SJIKLLS. 

Forgive me, Thou who know'st the reckless beat 
Of life's young pulse, for hope has proved a cheat ! 

Amid the scenes and cares of later life, 

If I have erred as mother, friend or wife ; 

If, worn with toil, I 've met in wayward mood 

The bold inquiry of the kind and good ; 

If, chained to want, my heart has sighed in vain 

For titled honors, and for golden gain ; 

If, tired at night, I Ve lain my aching head 

With prayerless tongue upon the welcome bed, 

Forgot the blessings of the day and week, 

And slept with tears yet trickling o'er my cheek — 

Tears wrung by anguish from the heart that pride 

Locked up all day, and loosed at eventide : 

Forgive me, God ! thou know'st my weary lot, 

And in Thy mercy be my sins forgot ! 



CnVSHED HOPES. 45 



CRUSHED HOPES. 

Life, how thy hopes have fled ! 

As morning's broken dreams, 
As rolling sands on ocean's bed, 
As dust upon the gossamer thread. 

As starlight's cloud-quenched beams ; 
As scattered spray. 
As myriad insect's wings 

Which glitter and are gone ; 
As shadowy forms which fancy brings, 
Of long-lost friends and perished things ; 
So, youth, thy hopes have flown 
Away — away ! 

As moonbeams gild the eaves 
At evening's hallowed hour. 
And, silver-fingered, part the leaves 
Where, 'mong the vines the spider weaves 

3* 



46 



LITTLi: SIJKLLS. 

Her web from flower to flower, 
Nor linger here ; 
As, far where vision breaks 
Upon the vast — vast sea, 
White sails are seen, as tiny specks, 
And wondering we if ships or wrecks 
Are borne away to lea, 
And disappear. 

As fragments of a song, 

We would recall again. 
Whose bird-like notes v/e Ve missed so long. 
Are lost amidst the countless throng 

Of memories on the brain — 
Of cares and lore ; 
As passed that zephyr's breath. 

As young life's laughter hushed. 
As gathered blossoms in the wreath 
On beauty's brow fold up in death ; 

So have my hopes been crushed, 
To risif no more. 



PLANTIXG A THEE. 47 



PLANTING A TREE. 

I am planting a tree — 't is love's labor ; I know 

It will never for me to maturity grow ; 

It will number its summers, and whiten with time, 

When I dwell 'mid the blooms of the shadowless clime. 

I am planting a shade where a sorrowful one 
Will repeat, in hushed accents, "the planter is gone;" 
And my own hearthstone darlings, apart and afar. 
Will but sit in its shadow in memory's parterre. 

O, never my lips, though my spirit will sigh 
In the cool of its branches that climb to the sky ; 
But if one human brother shall rest in its shade. 
And take heart for life's battle anew, I 'm repaid. 



48 



LITTLE SHELLS. 



PLANTING A TREE "THE WRONG END UP." 

I was planting a row of saplings one day, 

And my wits were flighty — they are alway — 

I spaded, and settled them here and there, 

Like a row of corn, all even and fair ; 

But I said, as my thoughts on one were bent, 

I will make of this an experiment ; 

Where the buds were born the roots shall grow, 

And the buds shall stretch into roots below ; 

Then I cut off the roots, so newly born. 

And planted it deep and straight as corn. 



But I waited in vain for the buds to burst 
From the tall, thin trunk of the tree reversed ; 
There it lingered, devoid of verdure and sap, 
Till I flung it away, and filled the gap. 



THE WliOXG END UP. 49 



Since the day of that planting I 've traveled some, 
And have met on life's turnpike more fools than one 
But I never have met a woman or man 
Bewailing the wreck of some foolish plan, 
But I 've said in my heart, " You deserved this cup, 
For planting your sapling ' the wrong end up.' " 



so 



LIT TLB SHELLS. 



BREAD AND BUTTER. 

Cries a child beside the gutter, 
" Want a piece of bread and butter ; " 

Cries the mother, in the door, 
" Child, be still — we have no more." 
Says the lady, passing by, 
With a proud, disdainful eye, 
" Little brute in garments tattered, 
How my satin he bespattered ; 
Filthy woman ! filthy boy ! 
How the poor the rich annoy ! " 
Child still paddles in the gutter, 
Loudly crying " bread and butter ! " 

On goes she, with queen-like mien, 
Dazzling many with her sheen ; 



lUlEAl) A XT) mJTTKn. 

Solemn bells are tolling loud, 
Goes she with the " pious " crowd ; 
Kneels she in the solemn aisle, 
Heaps she high that silver pile, 
Listens she, with upturned brow, 
To that surpliced preacher now, 
Sighing, like an angel grieved, 
For the souls that ne'er believed ; 
Conscience never thinks to utter — 
Even Faith needs bread and butter. 

Says the seamstress, in despair, 
Toiling, vi'iih neglected hair. 
From the break of morn till night. 
Till her blue eyes lose their light. 
And her heart doth wildly flutter, 

*' God ! how dear is bread and butter ! " 
Says her mistress, tall and thin, 

" God makes some to toil and spin ; 
Thank Plim for the strength thou hast. 
None who work have need to fast ; 



5f 



52 LITTLK SHELLS. 

Shame on any one to mutter, 

Who can earn her bread and butter.' 



Rings a voice throughout the halls 
Where the sunlight never falls — 
Through that damp and dismal keep, 
Where the wretched curse and weep, 
" Want and sorrow brought me here, 
Wages low, and flour dear ; 
Starving children cried for bread, 
Famished wife lay low in bed ; 
One my hard-earned wages kept, 
And I slew him as he slept ! 
God ! thou know'st the truth I utter. 
He withheld my bread and butter." 

Says the client, " I 'm in trouble, 
Help me, and I Ml fee you double ; 
Stating then the case's merit. 
What he rightly should inherit, 



jiJ?EAJ) A XT) BrTTTJU. 

Lawyer answers, "Ah, of course, 
Many a cause than yours is worse ; 
Justice you must surely get — 
Cannot fail — my head I '11 bet ; 
Leave the whole to me, I say 

* Where there 's will there is a way.' " 
Exit client — hear him mutter 

" Right or wrong, my bread I '// butter ! " 

Says a lady, weak and pallid, 
(Dined on lobster, pig and salad,) 

" Doctor, I am growing ill — 
Need a powder or a pill." 
Doctor takes her wrist and sighs, 

" Very ill, to my surprise ! 
Go to bed — I '11 try to cure you, 
Life, e'en now, I can 't insure you ; 
Take to-night these pills eleven, ?. 
And to-morrow powders seven." 
Home she goes with saddened brow; 

" Ha ! " savs he, " I have her now ; 



53 



54 



LITTLE SHELLS. 

Doubts not she a word I utter, 
And I //> for bread and butter." 

Says the preacher to his flock, 

Hide you in the ' Living Rock,' 

Whatsoe'er your work or name, 

God doth love you all the same." 

And a pattern pastor he 

Seemeth in reality. 

But when coarse-7vooled lambkins stray, 

Never does he ask " which way ? " 

Goes not far to bring them in, 

Leaves them wandering in their sin. 

When the " sheep " of golden fleeces 

Break the fold, the " shepherd " chases ; 

Finds the wanderers — brings them back, 

(Knows whose wool must Jill his sack) — 

Earnest blessings then doth utter 
* 
O'er recovered "bread and butter." 

Politicians, to and fro. 
Working for " the people," go, 



BBEAD AND BUTTEIi. 

Never minding wind or weather, 
Here they whisper, there they gather, 
Making friends, and making speeches. 
Sucking good men's blood like leeches — 
Puff themselves, the modest fellows ! 
Self-inflating, noisy bellows ! 
Puff "the people," till "the people" 
Lift them high as any steeple ; 
Sov'reign people " — " people dear " — 
(Generous people, it is clear,) 
So " hurrah ! " they take their station, 
Sov'reigns of a " sov'reign nation," 
Which they '11 prove to demonstration : 
On " the people's " shoulders set — 
Ho ! for a ride, with a galling bit — 
Ride, and run, and spur, and sputter. 
On " the people's " bread and butter. 



Dreamed a dream too sad to utter. 
Saw a wide, terrific gutter. 



55 



56 LITTLE SHELLS. 

Not of water, but of fire — 
Smoke up-curling, higher — higher — 
There a lady cried for "water," 
Who had scorned the poor man's daughter ; 
There a lawyer sorrowing, said, 
" I consumed my client's bread ; " 
And a doctor cried, " I filled her 
With my drugs, and robbed and killed her — 
Frightened, blistered, leeched and cut her, 
All to make my bread and butter." 

There the politician moaned, 
" While my country bled and groaned, 
I, the people's neck astride. 
Had a most exalted ride ; 
Eating up their bread and butter, 
Who had raised me from the gutter ; 
' Honorable ' then they thought me, 
Me, whose lies a title bought me ; 
No man says ' your servant ' here — 
' Bought my whistle very dear.' 



BHEAD AND BUT TEH. 57 

'T is a ' democratic ' gutter, 

All are minus bread and butter." 



Saw I not that baby there, 

AVith his little brow of care, 

Nor his mother, in the door, 

Saying, "child, we have no more." 

There, was not that man of woe. 

Who for bread had slain his foe, 

Nor that seamstress, pale and sad. 

Who had sold her fame for bread ; 

There, were not those coarse-wooled sheep 

Whom no shepherd tried to keep — 

Not a spirit walked that gutter, 

Who had starved for bread and butter. 

There the haughty head was low, 
Naked was the mitred brow ; 
Kings were there, without their crowns, 
Priests were there, without their gowns. 



58 LITTLE tillELL^. 

Lawyers, doctors, minus fees, 
Nabobs, minus beds of ease ; 
But the sorrowing ones of earth, 
Penury's children from their birth, 
Dwellers lone in caves and sheds, 
Taunted from their cradle-beds, 
God had pitied and forgiven. 
Purified, and called to Heaven. 
With this dream, so sad to utter, 
Ends my song of " bread and butter." 



THE SIGN OF THE WIDOW McCIiEE. 



59 



THE SIGN OF THE WIDOW McCREE. 

Pray who is that man in the broad-cloth and satin, 
With a neckerchief stiff and a slick beaver hat on, 
In cassimeres fine as a king ever sat on ] 
With two little gray eyes, and a nose with a turn up, 
Like a pigtail that 's roasting, and ready to burn up, 
Or a little, grey kitten, adrift, with its stern up ; 
Who seems fretted and worn, as an over-tasked waiter, 
Making speed at the rate of a holiday skater ? 

Who is he ? Do n't you know ? 
That is Squire Van Blow, 
Who is hurrying so. 
All in black, like a crow. 
From his crown to his toe. 
He has millions and billions, 
The more is the pity, 



6o LITTLE >S HELLS, 

Twelve farms in the country, 

Ten blocks in the city ; 
He has horses and cattle, and sheep without number ; 
He has coal beds, and forests, and mills to saw lumber. 

Velvet slippers and gown, 

In a palace up town, 

Where he snores upon down. 
And choice wines bring sweet dreams to his slumber 

But the Squire, you see. 

Has a sister, McCree, 

Who — for such things will be — 

Far away was at work, and aggrieving ; 
She wrote him sometimes, 
From his surplus of dimes, 
(This he ranked among crimes,) 

To send her what he well could be giving ; 
And he wearied of her — 
Her " Dear brother — dear sir," 
And thought none would infer 

That his sister Maria was living. 



THE ^SIGN OF THE WIDOW McCBEE. 6i 

So he wrote her he could n't, 

He should n't, he would n't, 

Be harassed and troubled : 

His business had doubled, 

His stores and his stills, 

His mines and his mills, 
All needed his care and attention ; 

Her epistles were many, 

Not one worth a penny, 

She must not send any. 
He desired an immediate suspension. 



Then the widow, she said, 

With a toss of her head, 

He shall wish me quite dead ; 

I '11 go back to the place I was born in. 
(Who says I shall not ?) 
There rent me a cot, 
With such means as I 've got, 

Little better than cribs they put corn in. 



62 LITTLE SHELLS, 

And Maria McCree, 
After settling, you see, 
Hung a sign on a tree, 

Which her brother descried on the morrow, 
" Yellow letters in blue," 
Said she, laughing, "will do," 
As her name rose in view, 
" This will give him vexation and sorrow ; 
I, Maria Van Blow, 
All the village will know, 
Am now fallen so low 

That ajDpearance no longer I borrow ; 
For promptly attending 
To washing and mending, 
And taking, and sending 

Clothes home, on that shingle, I 've painted, 
And nailed to that tree, 
(Even so let it be). 
By Maria McCree, 

With her neighbors aforetime acquainted." 



THE ^IGN OF THE WIDOW JIcCI^EE. 

'T is reported he proffered, 
From gold he had coffered, 
Five hundred ; and offered 

To send her this way, or another ; 

But she scorned to be hired — 
Said her comfort required 
Nothing more ; she desired 

But to stay within sight of her brother. 

Now, we hear he is making 
(With agony shaking) 
An effort, and taking 

All pains to be off to the city ; 
But the widow declares. 
Where he goes, with his heirs. 
She will haunt his gray hairs. 

And we doubt not she will, for she 's gritty. 

All too late, he is wise, 
And wherever he hies, 
To his shame and surprise, 



63 



64 LITTLE SHELLS. 

He will meet the gaunt form of his sister 
City, village, or town, 
As he goes up and clown, 

She will cling to his side like a blister. 

There, printer, you 've heard 
How he paused and deferred, 
By no sympathy stirred, 

To be up and a-doing in season ; 

Till, the golden hours flown, 
He transformed into stone 
Her sad heart ; and his own 

Is "in torment" too soon for that reason. 



THE WAiSIIIMi BILL. 65 



THE WASHING BILL. 

Where windows draped in gold and blue 

Were silvered by the moon, 
And massive pillars, wreathed with dew, 

In shadowy splendor shone ; 

Where downy cushions offered rest 

To care's o'erlabored head, 
And feet on carpet flowers were pressed 

Soft as a mossy bed ; 



Where pictures rare, and mirrors vast, 
Were hung in golden frames, 

And glittering things, by wealth amassed, 
Flashed like a hundred flames ; 



66 LTTTLK SHELLS. 

Two ladies sat, discoursing low — 
High-born and proud they seemed, 

As, melting on their forehead's snow, 
The radiance o'er them streamed. 



A fleecy cap the matron wore ; 

The maiden's auburn hair, 
In shimmering ringlets, drifted o'er 

Her neck and shoulders fair. 



The maiden's eye was cold, and set 
Intensely on her thought ] 

Those lips, whose balmy alphabet 
Was grief's, her curve had caught. 

Say not forgive ; sweet mother, hush ! 

Now comes the avenging hour ; 
That craven heart I 've won to crush 

Shall feel my utmost power." 



THE WASHING BILL. 

Lo ! enters in a smiling man 
Of fashion and parade, 

A bland, obsequious gentleman, 
And bows before the maid. 



" Dear Isabel ! for e'er the same, 
My worship I repeat ; 
Our bridal day I pray thee name — 
My life is at thy feet." 

The maid replies : '* Sit down by me, 

I '11 answer by-and-by ; 
A story let me tell to thee 

Before I make reply : 

" Of common life, of common things, 
And hearts that sorrow knew, 
A tale where fancy folds her wings. 
And listens to the true." 



68 LTTTLF SHELLS. 

^ " Speak on, sweet sov'reign of my will, 

I cannot tell thee nay ; 
Whate'er thou say'st, my pleasure still 
Is always to obey." 

THE TALE. 

" A woman, when the wind w^as raw, 
Wore faded calico ; 
Her bonnet was the coarsest straw, 
AVith neither band nor bow. 

" Her shoes were neither bound nor lined, 
Her hose of rope-like yarn. 
Their first foundation hid behind 
Full many a crafty darn. 

" No cloak nor shawl enwrapped her form, 
That cold December day. 
When, hurrying through a rising storm, 
She entered on Broadway. 



THE WASIIIXG BILL. 69 

She stopped before a large hotel, 

Beside a group of men, 
And said, to one who knew her well, 

' Please pay me two pounds ten.' 



I 'm very poor ; so small a sum 
Must seem a mite with thee ; 

I have three tender babes at home. 
Who wait and weep for me. 



" Think ! I have toiled for many a day 
To make thy linen clean ; 
Then, come to ask for honest pay. 
Have been denied at e'en. 



Think how I 've come thro' snow and thaw. 
And brought those robes again ; 

While frightened faces shrieked ' Mamma ! ' 
At every broken pane. 



70 



LITTLE SHELLS. 

Begone ! he said, I owe thee naught, 
Thou bold, untruthful jade, 

That well deserv'st a beggar's lot ; 
I have no debts unpaid ! 



" What could she do ? Derision's laugh 
From lip to lip went round ; 
Why should she vent her feeble wrath 
Where not a 7?ian was found. 



They do not fear the Holy One, 

Who kept her humble fold ; 
Whose hand might break their hearts of stone, 

Ere half their years were told. 

' That night, all night, resolved she stood. 
And washed, and rinsed, and wrung ; 
Her only hope of flour and wood 
On that night's labor hung. 



THE WASHING BILL. 

" The angel saw her desperate strife, 
Who stood to guard her door, 
And prayed the Author of her life, 
She thence might toil no more. 



" A brother dear, in manhood's morn, 
To distant isles had sailed ; 
Life's burden and its heat he 'd borne, 
Nor once his kindred hailed. 



With wealth untold that pilgrim came, 

A man of silvered hair, 
His earthly goods, his honored name, 

With friends beloved to share. 



" For parents dear his bosom yearns : 
They Ve passed within the door 
Which opes for all, but whence returns 
Not one, forever more. 



71 



72 LITTLE SHELLS. 

" His sister's name he seeks, with dread, 
On each memorial stone ; 
She sleeps not 'mong his household dead- 
Where has the loved one gone ? 



She should be known in many a hall 
Which once she graced with him ; 

They knew her once, so far and tall, 
Now lon^ unknown to them. 



They kept her image while it smiled, 

Within a jeweled case ; 
They lost it when, misfortune's chilcl, 

She wore a graver face. 



" He seeks her here, he seeks her there 
None know the changed Jeannette, 
Till chance reveals the aged pair 
Who note the sufferer yet. 



THE WASIIIXG BILL. 

" My tale is told. O, shrunken soul ! ^ 
Why are thy lips so white ? 
Thy laundress, like a beckoning ghoul, 
Shall scare thy dreams to-night ! 

" Thy laundress, in that velvet grey, 
All edged with golden sheen, 
Who turns her tearful face away, 
Tho' here at home a queen. 



And I am one of three that wept 
When ' mother ' staid so long, 

And, shivering on the hearth-stone, kept 
The record of her wrong:. 



" For this one hour the net was spread 
Which holds thy feet so fast ; 
I break its meshes, thread by thread ; 
Go ! I 'm avenged at last. 



73 



74 LITTLE SHELLS. 

" Unhappy man ! the bond was loosed, 
He lost, but loved her still, 
Who, fifteen years before, refused 
Her mother's Washing Bill." 



OUT OF FASHION. 75 



BETTER OUT OF THE WORLD THAN THE 
FASHION. 

Queen Fashion, you know, is a wonderful shrew, 
If she says " wear pink," lay aside your blue ; 
Or she '11 tell all the world to laugh at you — 

Oh ! how ridicule puts the lash on ; 
Get out of the world, if you 're poor and proud, 
While your credit is good for a coffin and shroud ; 
For we '11 tell you a secret — do n't breathe it aloud - 

" Better out of the world than the fashion." 

Speak humbly and low in the rich man's ear ; 
Though your heart be breaking, suppress that tear ; 
For he " hates long stories," he says with a sneer, 

And your " labor " you won't get the " cash on." 
Hush ! say he is generous, and kind, and good. 
Though he 's greedily sucking your very blood. 



76 



/. ir TL E SHELLS. 

And would tear the last rag from your back, if he could, 
For, to flatter the rich is the fashion. 

Speak softly, O bard ! when you sing your song ; 
Most gently, O preacher ! nor preach too long ; 
Never mention omissions, nor things done wrong, 

Or your people will fly in a passion ; 
Plain talk was a folly of olden times. 
But should never appear in our modern rhymes ; 
And that preacher may whistle for hearers and dimes 

Whose sermons are oi/f of fashion. 

Just pleasantly tell them how pious they are, 

With a bow and a smile, and they '11 all be there — 

* What an excellent sermon ' — ' a beautiful prayer ' — 

And they '11 give you enough to dash on. 
Do likewise, O poet ! the time has gone by 
When your pathos was answered by tears in the eye. 
And the truth, as a poem, is bitter and dry. 

And wofully out of fashion. 



TWIN SPIBITS. 77 



TWIN SPIRITS. 

We tell you never was a soul created, 

But that another was created for it ; 
Though here and there antipodes are mated, 

There are " twin spirits^"* and we underscore it ; 
It sometimes happens blundering chance has led them 
So far asunder earth can never wed them, 

And so for Heaven they wait. 

We tell you, too, if two have been united. 
Of different tastes and adverse education. 

By any freak of fortune, or short-sighted 
Advice of friends, without consideration, 

They find their " union " but a bursting bubble, 

Never in anything but folly double. 
Till they agree to hate. 



78 LITTLE SHELLS. 

Look to it ! ye who yet unfettered wander, 
Lest mirage waters lure ye to your doom ; 

Ye will love once — it must be ; therefore ponder 
Till life's spring passes, and its summer bloom ; 

Yea, wait till Autumn's hoary frosts shall find you, 

For your ^^ tium spirit ;'*'' let no other bind you. 
Lest you be wise too late. 



SPIES! SPIES!! SPIES!!! 



79 



SPIES! SPIES!! SPIES!!! 

Spies upon our hearths intruding, 
Angels shield us from your wiles ! 

Heaven help us bear in patience 
All the sunshine of your smiles ! 



Spies that come with curls and kisses, 
Sighing o'er our griefs and cares ; 

Never mind our trouble, darlings, 
Leave i^s out of all your " prayers." 



Spies that stand at every corner, 
Spying " for your country's weal," 

Spying " for religion's honor," 
Stabbing whom ye feign to heal. 



8o LITTLE SHELLS. 

Spies that eat the good man's dinner, 
Taking notes of every word ; 

On his viands, half digested. 
To repeat the story heard. 

Spies that, in the wool of " patrons," 
Seek, like wolves, the trustful young ; 

Hungry for the bosom secrets 

Dropping from the thoughtless tongue. 

Spies of every grade and station, 
Wise and simple, great and small, 

Village, city, army, nation, 

Now are struggling in your thrall. 



To your holes, ye parlor vipers ! 

To your nests, ye pious owls ! 
Get ye home, infernal pickets ! 

Satan calls his " muster rolls.'' 



THE ]V01iLD. 8 1 



THE AVORLD. 

The world is an ass, which is goaded along 

By many a bawling fellow ; 
And she seldom kicks when a fool jumps on, 

Though he spurs till her flanks are mellow. 



The world is a child, allured by toys, 
And charmed with bells and rattles j 

And the hero who makes the greatest noise. 
Is the hero of all her battles. 



The world 's a coquette, who spreads her snares 

For the idle and the simple ; 
And dallies alike with the man of cares, 

Or the boy with the baby-dimple. 



82 LITTLE SHELLS. 

The world is a weaver, laughing aloud 
In the midst of the sick and dying, 

And cheerily singing while weaving a shroud, 
Or at wedding robes carelessly plying. 

The world 's a physician, the pulse that feels 
Of the patient that pays her kindly ; 

But the brain of the poor man throbs and reels. 
And "the doctor" goes past him blindly. 

The world is a lawyer, pleading the cause 

Of the rich with due precision ; 
But the claims of the poor are dark with flaws, 

And she passes them by with derision. 



The world is a preacher, reproving sin 
Where the prospect is poor for a dinner ; 

But graciously smiling, and crying " clean," 
Where there 's hope of a feast with the sinner 



THE WOULD. 2>^ 

The world is a critic, deaf, dumb and blind 

To the claims of unlucky m.erit ; 
But, fee her beforehand, she '11 give you "a mind," 

Though your head be as blank as a garret. 

The world is Queen Fashion ; her fettered slaves 

She rules with a rod unfeeling ; 
And they find no rest till in quiet graves 

They forget her unkindly dealing. 

The world — she is everything under the sun ! 

It surpasses our art to describe her ; 
She will rank us all " idiots," let her alone, 

She will call us all " wise " if we bribe her. 



84 



LITTLE ^"S HELLS. 



NOBODY. 

If nobody 's noticed you, you must be small ; 
If nobody 's slighted you, you must be tall ; 
If nobody 's bowed to you, you must be low ; 
If nobody 's kissed you, you 're ugly, we know ; 
If nobody 's envied you, you 're a poor elf ; 
If nobody's flattered you, flatter yourself; 
If nobody 's cheated you, you are a knave ; 
If nobody 's hated you, you are a slave ; 
If nobody 's called you a " fool " to your face, 
Somebody 's wished for your back in its place ; 
If nobody 's called you a " tyrant " or " scold," 
Somebody thinks you of spiritless mould ; 
If nobody knows of your faults but " a friend. 
Nobody '11 miss of them at the world's end ; 
If nobody clings to your purse like a fawn, 
Nobody '11 run like a hound when it 's goi e ; 



XOBOD Y. 

If nobody 's eaten his bread from your store, 
Nobody '11 call you "a miserly bore ;" 
If nobody 's slandered you — here is o\ir pen- 
Sign yourself Nobody, quick as you can. 



8s 



86 LITTLE SHELLS. 



"UPS AND DOWNS." 

Men talk of their "ups" and their." downs," 
And a wonderful racket they make ; 

And women in boroughs and towns 
To talk of them oft lie awake. 



I have only to mention of mine, 

That some have had fewer, some more ; 

And the medium 's the thing, I opine, 
So I '11 keep discontent out of door. 



I have had but a precious few "ups," 

While my "downs " count a million or so 

But one who on charity sups 

Might envy my station e'en now. 



UFS AXD DOWNS. 87 

These words can be strangers to none, 

Yet few on their import agree ; 
For what is the '^ up " of the one, 

The "down" of another mirfit be. 



LITTLE >S HELLS. 



THE THIRST FOR FAME. 

A hoary mortal whom the world called " great," 
Unsated still with praise, defying God, 
Stole from the crowd to battle with himself, 
And voiced his heart-throes thus in bitter words 



Fame, how I wooed thee ! With my strong, wild will 

I trampled down the flowers. I spurned the grass ; 

I would not note the innocent child at play. 

Nor hear life's mentor, bowed with hoary age ; 

I talked not with the stars — the pensive stars — 

That hung above me, high and pure alway ! 

I hailed no God's hand in the concave blue, 

Nor knelt before him in the midnight's hush. 

But when the cloud rolled up its inky folds. 

And the forked lightning cut its way amain ; 



THE THUiST FOJt FAME. 



89 



When the hoarse tempest rocked the startled earth 

Till the roused ocean battled with the shore, 

And shrieking sea-birds flecked the plain with white ; 

Then my lips smiled, as answered bolt to bolt. 

And fiercer lightnings lit the shuddering dark ; 

For all my being was for fame athirst. 

One hot, mad fever fired my heart and brain ; 

And hours were years, and years as lustrums were 

Till the world knew me ; but I thirsted still. 



Alas ! ambition, in thy direful wake 

Lie throngs of broken hearts — cold, ghastly piles 

Of hearts, that perished in the covered fires 

Thy torch had kindled and thy breath had fanned ! 

Must I walk softly to those myriad heaps 

While yet my name is but a whispered word ? 

God of this weary soul ! if madest thou me 

To crawl life's highway like a slimy worm, 

Why didst thou make my heart a living coal. 

To rock and kindle in the strong, wild wind ? 



90 



LITTLE SHELLS. 

Is here no rest, but for those plodding feet 
That never spurn the dust ? Then welcome, toil ! 
And let me nurse these bosom-embers still, 
And with mv last breath fan their crimson back. 



HOW TO PLEASE EVEBYEODY. 



91 



HOW TO PLEASE EVERYBODY. 

Rise in the morning as early as five, 

And work for the drones that He snug in the hive ] 

Breakfast on water, for coffee is dear, 

Save for the visitors all your good cheer ; 

Shut the door softly, and rush to your work, 

But if any man hail you, hold up, with a jerk ; 

His questions all answered, then hurry along, 

Giving all of the path to each child of the throng ; 

Stop, though you 've not leisure, to chat with the fool, 

And talk with the minions of cant and misrule ; 

Bow to the great man, and shrink from the rich, 

Till your feet in their humbleness plunge in the ditch. 

Arrive at your work shop precisely at 'leven. 

Though you meant to have reached it an hour before seven ; 

Toil like a dog till the clock has struck one, 

Then turn your face homeward, your task scarce begun ; 



92 LTTTLE SHELLS. 



And, if all your friends happen at dinner to be, 

You may get to your lodgings sometime before three. 

Send your boy to the priest with your mutton and wine, 

And on brown bread and water contentedly dine ; 

Tell your wife, if she asks for a dollar, to " wait," 

And give two to the beggar that stands at your gate ; 

Give your last to the lady who asks you for some 

" For the perishing heathen," though robbing your home ; 

If your pocket cry ''emptiness," stifle its breath, 

For the world must be pleased, though w^ant choke you to 

death. 
Then go back to your work, not forgetting to be 
" Your obliged," and " your servant," to all whom you see. 
Ply your tools like a Hercules now for 3^our bread, 
Nor go home till you 're certain the world is in bed ; 
Take a crust for your supper, lie down upon hay, 
And dream over the friendships made fast through the day. 
And as this day has passed, let your days all pass on, 
Till you Ve pleased all the world, and your duty is done. 
Then lie down and rejoice at the end of your race, 
You may own as much land as will cover your f^ice. 



HOW TO PLEASE EVERYBODY. 93 



Then the " saints " of the world, when they hear of 3^our 

death, 
AVill exclaim, " Oh, poor fellow ! " and draw a long breath, 
And pass on unconcerned. Ho ! you slumbering elf, 
If you 'd " please everybody " now — bury yourself. 



94 



Lrrrij-: shells. 



GENTLEMAN BEFORE MARRIAGE. 

My dearest duck ; my sweetest girl, 

I love you most sincerely ; 
I 'd rather own this sunny curl 

Than win a fortune yearly ; 
This little hand, so soft and white. 

Was only made for kisses ; 
This little form, so frail and light, 

Was made for gauzy dresses ! 



I '11 keep my Kate a span of greys, 

A carriage and a pony ; 
I '11 go with her to balls and plays, 

And never speak of money ; 
For her I '11 buy romances new — 

Attending to her pleasure — 



BEFOUE AND AFTEB M ABB T AGE. 95 

And poems, bound in gold and blue, 

I '11 order for my treasure. 
Our lives shall be but one sweet dream 

Of love and sunny weather, 
No adverse wave shall cross the stream 

Of wedded bliss forever ! 



AFTER MARRIAGE. 

You always talk of plays and balls ; 

You are forever flirting, 
And scribbling rhymes, and making calls. 

And never making shirting ; 
You smile in every whiskered face ; 

You chase all silly fashions ; 
You load with jewels, flaunt in lace, 

And show your angry passions ! 



The baby 's left to cry and moan, 
I Ve ne'er a decent dinner ; 



96 LITTLE SHELLS. 

You drag me out, 3'ou call me down — 

I am a hen-pecked sinner, 
An abject slave — I tell you so ! 

Madame ! your folly's ended ; 
You shall not flirt — and go — and go — 

I 'm weary and oflended ; 
I 'm going to a reading room — 

I '11 join a club thereafter — 
So — mend your manners — stay at home, 

And dry your eyes with laughter ! 

LADY BEFORE MARRIAGE. 

I feel a very solemn sense 

Of all a woman's duty 
To keep within the door-yard fence, 

Unmindful of her beauty ; 
To share her husband's griefs and cares. 

And, in his shadow walking, 
C'ontent to mind her own affairs. 

Be reverent when he's talking! 



BE F QUE AND AFT EI?. MAURI AGE. 97 

T is plain, our Maker did design 

Tiiat woman should be humble ; 
Not given to looks, nor dressing fine, 

Which makes them fret and grumble. 
Those novels are pernicious things 

To feed imagination ; 
All filled with angels shorn of wings — ' 

To me they are vexation. 
Dear William, as your wedded wife, 

I never mean to teaze you ; 
My aim and pride through all my life 

Shall only be to please you ! 

AFTER AFARRIAGE. 

Bill ! come down stairs ; I know you can ! 

The baby has the colic ; 
The way you shirk your duties, man, 

Is truly diabolic ! 
The nurse has such a blundering way 

She cannot stop its crying, 



98 IJTTLK SHELLS. 

And as for me, I'm housed all day 
Till I am almost dying ! 

Ann ! run and bring my velvet sacque, 

My parasol and bonnet ; 
I 'm going to the Messrs. Black, 

The printers, with a sonnet ! 
I have no time to write nor read 
But while /le tends the baby ; 

You. Sarah, take this book with speed 
Across to Mrs. Maybe ; 

Ask her to loan me Hugo's last 
Ir. change for Love's Dilemma ; 

There Bill — don 't rock so horrid fast — 
You '11 wake my darling Emma ! 



()! IT IH IfAlU). 



99 



O! IT IS HARD, LINK AFTER LINK." 

O ! it is hard, link after link 

To lose from love's bright chain, 

And trembling on the grave's cold brink 
Where life's sweet clay is lain, 

Repeat the words, " Thy will be done ! " 

The heart with such a dismal moan, 
Says, "Can they rise again ?" 



Forgive, O God ! the yearning beat 
Of these poor hearts of clay. 

That leave with slow, reluctant feet, 
The earth-clods where they lay ; 

The faith that still, with leaden wings, 

Looks upward to eternal things. 
And cannot soar av/av. 



LITTLE SHELLS. 

Could but a voice — a single tone — 
Come from that far-off strand 

Where death hath gathered, one by one, 
The cherished household band ; 

Could but one tress we 've known before 

Float back from that mysterious shore, 
That cloud-wrapped betfe?' Ia?id ; 

We could believe — we would be still, 
And say, " What is, is right " ; 

Yea, with a stern triumphant will. 
Bid all our fears good night. 

Grant us a " sign," O risen Lord, 

The faintest touch, the lightest word. 
One little beam of light. 



WIIEX WILL THE MOILYING BE. joi 



WHEN WILL THE MORNING BE ? 

Father ! the night is long and drear ; 

Whero doth the morning stay ? 
When will the first grey tint appear 

Which ushers in the day ? 

When will the first bright silver thread 

Be woven with the black. 
And gladness through the heart be shed, 

So long on sorrow's rack ? 



I bear, I strive, nor yield to tears ; 

I hope, believe and trust ; 
But oh ! these long, these weary years ! 

Lord, what am I but dust ? 



I02 LIT TLB SHELLS. 

I 'm sick with hope deferr'd — I die ; 
Remove this cup from me ! 

Hushed midnight wearies of my cry- 
When will the morning be ? 



XAY, XEVEll SAY, ''POOlt. 



103 



NAY, NEVER SAY, "POOR!" 

Nay, never say, " poor ! " 
Lest your friends bring you garments so threadbare and 

greasy 
You will turn from the sight of them sick and uneasy, 
While you dolefully thank them, and think, as you bear it, 
That to-morrow you '11 hang the same high in the garret ; 

To cobwebs you '11 doom them ; 

The moth shall consume them 

Till light shall illume them ; 
The mouse and her young in the pockets shall hide ; 

Long life to the donor 

Who makes you the owner 
Of hapless old trowsers, too short and too wide. 

Nay, never say, " poor ! " 
And then put up your lip to be kissed so sincerely ; 



104 LITTLE SIJKLLS. 



They will just make a bow, or shake hands with you merely, 

Who a short time ago were '' so happy to meet you," 

That you feared, in their earnest devotion, they 'd eat you ; 

Now their " How do you do ? " 

Will be solemn and low 

As the plaint of a crow, 
When the corn is all gone and the winter is near; 

They will murmur of " losses," 

"Disappointments" and "crosses," 
With their eyes on the door ; and, in haste, disappear. 

Nay, never say, " poor ! " 
All the world, like your friends, will at once under-rate you ; 
Your relations, offended, wull shun you and hate you ; 
All the fools whom you meet will make bold to advise you 
To go this way, or that ; since they Ve learned to despise 
you ; 

They will tauntingly say. 

With their drawling " Good-day ! " 

" He who gave takes away. 
And the blessings He grants us are oft-times a snare ;" 



\ 



XAY, NEVEli SAY, " rOOL'.'' 105 

Then leave you to gather 
Your hay in cold weather, 
When the fail rains have come and the meadows are bare. 

Nay, never say, " poor ! " 
All the faults of your youth will be whispered and told ; 
All the secrets, once hidden by glitter and gold ; 
All the nothings you Ve sa!d in your hurry or spleen, 
Will be held up to view without mercy or screen. 

Nay, never say, " poor ! " 

Keep a coach as before \ 

Borrow money the more ; 
And, when no man will trust you, take poison and die ; 

Then your kindred will kiss you, 

As they tell " how they '11 miss you ; " 
You will have a fine funeral, and — creditors cry. 



lo6 LITTLE SHELLS. 



"ROOT ON!" 

Ye men, with faces long and sad ! 
Ye women, who forever gad 
To ferret out the faults', so bad, 

Of all the people near you ! 
Ye owls in pants ! — ye skirted geese ! 
Who never give our ears release, 
Nor grant our souls a moment's peace, 

"We will not stoop to hear you. 
Oh ! fools ! with everlasting tongues — 
With iron heels and leathery lungs ; 
Ye barrels, full, v/ith leaky bungs, 

We neither love nor fear you ! 
There 's not a name on earth so fair 
Ye would not set your blotting there, 
And finger it with pious care 

Till naught remains but sorrow ; 



BOOT OX. 



107 



There 's not a heart whose generous beat 
Ye do not try to prove a cheat ; 
Its virtues hide — its faults repeat, 

Where'er ye bid " Good-morrow ! " 
The swine, which delves for meaner things, 
The jewel to the sunlight flings ! 
Root on ; till safe where angels' wings 

Ye cannot beg nor borrow ! 



lo8 LITTLE SHELLS. 



NATURE. 

Like a freed prisoner, boldly walk I forth 

Communing with my thoughts. The earth is mine, 

With all its verdure and its glittering dews, 

Its waters and its hills. The low, meek flowers. 

Up-springing at my feet, for me exhale 

Their wealth of incense ; and I love them all. 

I thank thee, Nature ! for thy mountains lift 

Their leafy branches proudly o'er my head 

To screen me from the sun ; thy rivers flow 

On, in their murmuring melody, for aye ; 

And the winged warblers of the balmy air 

Chant their sweet lays for me. The evening flings 

Her dusky mantle o'er the arching skies, 

As weary day retires ; and die fair stars. 

As fire-drops glittering on the eternal blue. 

Uplift my heart to Heaven. O Nature ! thou 



NATUBE. 109 



Good gift of God ! how rich is man in thee ! 
Thou hast no coffers, but the poorest serf 
That treads unlettered on thy common walks 
In thee hath heritage. No robber power 
Can wrest from man — the heir — his boundless wealth. 
Thou knowest no titles, Nature ! Every child 
Of the great Father reigns on earth a prince, 
Whose foot-stool is the velvet-coated sward — 
Whose throne the hills — whose crown the arch of Heaven ! 
6 



iia LITTLE SHELLS. 



FAREV/ELL ! 

Farewell ! I press an aching brow ; 

Oh ! do we look our last ? 
I cannot love you less, though now 

I blend you with the past ; 
Farewell ! unclasp my throbbing hand, 
And grasp it in the " better land ! " 



rilE CAIiELESS WOIW. m 



THE CARELESS WORD. 

I '11 tell you something, neighbors all, 
You need not mind revealing ; 

A word is like the graceless ball 
The tumble-bug is wheeling ; 

A little piece of dirt, you know, 
When first its owner takes it, 

But watch it, and you '11 see it grow 

As through the streets she rakes it. 

You 'd better never say a word 

Than certain things to mention 
Which may be true, but, if they 're stirred, 

Ne'er suffer a declension ; 
They travel on, from mouth to mouth. 

And magnify in going ; 
They never stop for rain nor drouth. 

Nor tarry when it 's snowing. 



112 LITTLE SHELLS. 

Just like the ball the tumble-bug 

Is rolling, rolling, rolling, 
The word which malice gives the tug 
. Increases with its bowling ; 
You utter but a careless thing, 

And hardly know you 've said it, 
Till startled by its thundering ring 

Where " bosom friends " have spread it. 



LIFE'S UNDEB CUBBENT. 



LIFE'S UNDER CURRENT. 

There is an under current, coursing 
'Neath the surface wave of Hfe, 

And the outer and the inner 
Often meet in secret strife ; 

But the inner is the stronger, 

Darker, deeper, rougher, longer, 
And with dangers rife. 

Look, O man, upon thy brother, 
Ever wavering, nor condemn — 

Canst thou, know the secret anguish 
Strugghng in his bosom, when 

He is fitful and unsteady. 

Always hurrying — never ready — 
Here, and there again. 

Life is full of cares and sorrows 
To each child of Adam's race ; 



114 



LITTLE SHELLS. 

Care may leave the brow no furrows, 

Smothered passions leave no trace : 
Grief may leave no outward semblance 
Of the agonized remembrance 
Only one can trace. 

Disappointment's canker eateth 
Deep into the bosom's core, 

And the proud and tireless watcher 
Guardeth well that bosom's door, 

Lest perchance a stranger's finger 

Lift the latch where sorrows linger, 
Time ne'er covered o'er. 

Chide not then a wayward brother, 
But with all his weakness bear ; 

Touch his heart-strings lightly, gently. 
Lest a v/orld of grief be there ; 

And that deep and hidden river 

Sweepeth o'er his hopes forever, 
Though a smile he wear. 



LIFE'S UXDEB CTBBEXT. 115 

On its bosom, dark and brin}^, 

Floateth many a spectral thing ; 
And the lost and long lamented 

O'er its waves their shadows fling ; 
And the loved and absent meet us — 
Walking on its waves they greet us, 

Beckoning — vanishing. 

Slighted friendship there reposes, 

Subject to a stubborn will ; 
Wounded love his eyelids closes 

Wliile his heart is beating still ; 
Passion's fires cast their ashes 
On that turbid stream that dashes 

Memory's fount to fill. 

Oh ! that dark and dismal river, 

Flowinof to the sea of death 1 
Sweeping in its course forever 

Hope's dead flowers, and Faith's dead wreath. 
Under-cuirent darkly flowing, 
While life's outer wave is glowing 

Stilly as a breath. 



n6 LITTLE SIIELLIS. 



GOD OVER ALL. 

"Why breaks the heart, because the hand 

Is held so long in thrall, 
While slander flings her blazing brand 

To scorch us in our fall ? 
On God's eternal promise stand, 

For he is over all. 

Though friendship fails, and love grows cold, 

And honor turns to dust ; 
Though human wolves invade the fold 

Of home wherein we trust. 
He yet is true who was of old 

The refuge of the just. 

Helpless our life-bark seems to go 

On sorrow's stormy sea ; 
But One is with us who doth know 

Where all the breakers be ; 
The unseen Pilot whispers low, 

" Be calm, and trust in Me.'* 



SUjYSHIXE fbiends. 



117 



SUNSHINE FRIENDS. 

As the moth the sunshine flecking 
Are the friends in fortune's train ; 

From your path the shadow blots tliem, 
Never to return again. 

Sometimes to us in the darkness 
Comes a full hand with a kiss ; 

For some angel spirits linger 
In a world as cold as this. 

But it is not all v.'ho meet them — 
They are " far between " and " few ; " 

Wait not for their blessed coming — 
They may never come to you. 

Weep not for the friends unfaithful ; 

Hope not for the friends to come ; 

Council with the soul within you ; 

Up ! and work your passage Jioiue ! 
6* 



ii8 LITTLE t^JLLLL^. 



THE SECRET. 



I have not told — I will not tell — 

It is my secret yet ; 
An ice-bound stream — a covered well 

No lips but mine- have met. 

I thank Thee, God ! for power to hide 

Beneath the smile I wear, 
The weight of grief — the wound of pride- 

The withered track of care. 

I thank Thee none hath power to show, 

Against this stubborn will, 
One wavelet of the sea below 

That rolls so dark and still. 

In vain inquiring eyes may rest 

On marble brow and cheek ; 
They cannot pierce the guarded breast, 

And find the thing they seek ! 



THE SECRET. 

Fight on, O Heart ! disguised alone 

In life's mysterious war ; 
Yet listening to the undertone 

Of promise from afar. 

With firmer lip and steadier eye 

Direct thy pilgrim feet ; 
Nor on thy future's white-leaved sky 

One canceled star repeat. 



119 



120 LITTLE SHELL.':;. 



EARLY MARRIAGES. 

You, twent}^, saying, " Life is brief, 

And hence I wed to-morrow," 
With ne'er a dollar in relief 

For days of pain and sorrow, 
Will find that life is Ions; enough 

"When store bills come like hail — 
When creditors are growing rough, 

And no man "goes " your " bail." 

And, you sixteen, vvith lily hands, 

In trailing gauze and satin. 
That dream of Hymen's silken bands 

O'er books of French and Latin ; 
Who make your hea\'en of dress and forms, 

And all that 's gay and funny ; 
Know life's wide sea is flecked with storms - 

Keep close to father's money. 



"/r LS NOTHING TO DIE IF YOU'ItE NOTED.'' 121 



IT IS NOTHING TO DIE IF YOU'RE NOTED.' 

It is nothing to die if you 're noted, 

And are sure of 3'our guerdon of praise ; 
If you 're properly married and voted, 

And rode out with your " sorrels " or " greys ; " 
If you've had the good sense to keep shady 

While the party nags stood in the stall, 
And then sprung to the back of the foremost 

Just in time for "an office next fall." 

It is nothing at all to be shrouded, 

If the flags hang half-mast in the bay; 
If you 've given the churches ten thousand, 

While you hid half a million away ; 
If you 've sent a gold cup to a nabob, 

Though you winked at your brother's of tin ; 
If your name is in Charity's ledger. 

It is not in man's record of sin. 



122 LITTLE SIU£LLS. 

I<: is nothing at all to be lying 

With the grave pebbles ov^er your breast ; 
If you've sermonized well at your dying, 

You are '' sainted " as well as the best ; 
You can list from the ghost-hills delighted, 

While your eulogists thunder and roar, 
And read newspaper poems, and stories 

Of yourself never heard of before. 

It is nothing at all to be numbered 

With the mortals whose spirits have flown, 
If the sins that mortality cumbered 

Through life's glitter and glare were unknown ; 
You have leased you an earthly remembrance 

(Though you 've lost upon Heaven your claim) 
By your right hand's most royal disbursements, 

Though your left starved your sister to shame. 



FOVXD DEAD ! " 



123 



"FOUND DEAD!" 

Chaunt a requiem for our brother ! 

Let its notes be soft and low 
As the lullaby his mother 

Murmured o'er him long ago ; 
For her sweet sake, if she liveth — 
For his wife's sake, if one grieveth. 

Be our utterance sad and slow. 

Hath he children ? none assembling 
Round him for the last farewell ? 

Let our harp strings, faint and trembling, 
For their anguish gently swell ; 

For the sakes of all that love him, 

Breathe a requiem above him 
Soothing as a holy spell. 

For the friends that gathered round him 
When his young pulse gladly beat, 



124 



LITTLE SHELLS. 

Ere the chains of care had bound him — 

Ere his best hope proved a cheat ; 
Sing a song so sad and lonely, 
They who hear him then can only, 
VvHien they hear, in sobs repeat. 

Peace to thee, O Pilgrim, weary ! 

Fallen on life's battle plain ; 
Haply, when its hills were cheery. 

Sad misfortune shared thy gain ; 
Plaply, in its twilight groping 
Down the last league, rough and sloping, 

No man asked thy '' mite " in vain. 

God ! v.'ho formed the heart so tender, 
" Frailty " wrote on every string ; 

Christ I thy Saviour and Defender, 
Is thy only judge and king ; 

Rest in peace, O stranger brother ! 

Child afar, or wife, or mother. 
For thy sake this song we sing. 



SEBPENTS IN THE GBASSr 125 



'SERPENTS IN THE GRASS." 

Let lions meet me in the way, 
And tiiunder as they pass ; 

But save me, wheresoe'er I stray. 
From " serpents in the grass." 

I like the man that 's bold and fair. 

And says, " Behold your foe ! 
Come meet me openly, and there 
We '11 battle blow for blow ! " 

But words are all too weak to tell 

My loathing, my disgust, 
For such as feign to love me well, 

And then betray my trust. 



126 LITTLE SHELLS. 



HEART LIFE IN CALIFORNIA. 

My native land ! my native land ! 

A long farewell to thee ! 
Where setting sunbeams kiss the strand 

I dwell beside the sea. 

Some joys are mine — some jewels flash 

Across my path of pride ; 
But oft I turn away to dash 

Regret's hot tear aside. 

I love those purpling hills afar, 
Where first I saw the light ; 

And cradled 'neath the morning star, 
Slept sweetly in its white. 

The heart — the heart too fondly clings 
LTnto its earlier home ; 



HEABT LIFE IN CALIFOBNIA. 127 



And round its hallowed altar flings 
A glory all its own. 

The stranger speaks ; his words are kind 
He gives the welcome hand ; 

But O ! the tears these eyes that blind — 
How can he understand ? 

I cannot share the stranger's load ; 

He cannot help with mine ] 
Each treads alone his dreary road, 

And sighs for "auld lang syne." 

Familiar forms in visions come 

To meet my earnest gaze ; 
I listen for the tones of home, 

As in departed days. 

I hide from all one dismal woe — 

One pictured form of clay ; 
Whose white lips utter, sad and low, 

Their anguish at my stay. 



128 LITTLE SHELLS. 

It were too much ; I could not tear 
From out this aching breast 

A single memory treasured there, 
Till memory's self shall rest. 

Accursed gold ! vile yellow dust ! 

Worms, crawling in thy wake ! 
Our hearts consume with cankering rust, 

And ere we grasp thee — break ! 



CONFIDANTS. 



129 



CONFIDANTS ! 

If you 've told a whiskered sinner 

Everything you know, 
Go invite him home to dinner 

Every day or so ; 
Follow him to clubs and races ; 

Hug him in the street ; 
Jostle him throughout life's phases, 

Whispering, "don't repeat ! " 
Better thus your feet should patter 

Double in and out, 
Than your richest " pearls " he scatter 

In some " swinish " route ; 
If you 've had a fair " confessor," 

Take advice, O fool ! 
Neither slight her nor oppress her — 

Pet her, and keep cool ; 



I30 



LITTLE f^ HELLS. 

Keep in sight, thou babbhng human, 

All that hold thy trust ! 
Secrets, left with man or woman, 

Seldom stay to rust. 



NOBODY ViANTS YOU LONG. 131 



NOBODY WANTS YOU LONG. 

As I 've sped on life's errands I 've noticed one thing 
Which, without any charge I '11 impart ; 

It is this : that the time 'twixt the visitor's ring 
At the door, and " good-bye," should be short ; 

In the human hive, swarming from morning till night- 

Though I 'm sure such a truth I reluctantly write : 
Nobody wants you long. 

Hang your hat on that peg but a moment at best. 
And remark, you do n't purpose to stay. 

Lest my lady, expecting a welcome guest, 
May be anxious to bid you " good-day ! " 

Get you gone, ere her little feet pat on the floor ! 

And she says in her heart, " What a pitiful bore — " 
Nobody wants you long. 



132 LITTLE SHELLS. 



Though your sweetheart consent to be married next fall — 

And we give her much credit for tact — 
She 's afraid you may meet Lover Two in the hall, 

And a duel might come of the fact ; 
Then she wants, while yet free, to be gay as a kitten ; 
Do n't be always on hand, or she '11 give you the mitten." 
Nobody wants you long. 

I am naughty, at last, such a secret to mention. 

Which I learned of those men by mere chance ; 
They begrudge you their time, while they grant you atten- 
tion. 
If you linger all day in their haunts ; 
Keep your foot on the door-sill, your eye on the clock, 
Till you 're off to the counter, the desk, or the dock — 
Nobody wants you long. 



.4 PJiAYEM FOR PEACE. 133 



A PRAYER FOR PEACE. 

Peace, God of Concord ! wreathe our blood-stained soil 
With olive blossoms, starting from its red ; 

Peace, God of Mercy ! pour thy healing oil 
O'er wounded bosoms bleeding for their dead ; 

Peace — Lo ! our martyrs ask it at thy throne, 

Where earthly passions are no longer known. 

Peace ! Hear not thou the angry prayer of Hate 

That, wrapped in sackcloth pants and thirsts for blood, 

Erect and haughty knocking at thy gate. 

Crying, " Is due me at thy hands, O God ! — 

My brother's life-lease — and I cannot rest 

Until I tear it o'er his prostrate breast. " 



134 



LITTLE SHELLS. 



MODERN CHARITY. 

Our charity of modern times 

Is seldom found at home ; 
She 's always " very scant " of dimes, 

When starving neighbors come ; 
But builds her churches broad and high, 

And enters there demure ; 
Hush ! don 't disturb her with your cry — 

She 's praying for " the poor.'''^ 



THE CRITIC. 



135 



THE CRITIC. 

Write on ! the critic scents no common food ; 

Shrewd epicurean, what he bites is good ; 

He hails the tenderest of the author class, 

And says : " Aha ! — too poor to buy a pass ! " 

Then nails them, shrinking, to his fiendish rack, 

While low-mouthed envy titters at his back ; 

He mocks the fearful who attempt to sing ; 

His barb he buries in the timid wing ; 

Write on ! ye suffer, but ye shall not die ; 

God drops no star from mind's imperial sky ; 

Like trampled Truth ye '11 rise with quickened powers, 

Whose hardier stalks shall bear immortal flowers. 



136 LITTLE SHELLS. 



THE PRAYER OF WASHINGTON. 



While the American army lay encamped in a deplorable state of nakedness acA 
starvation at Valley Forge, a Quaker named Potts, passing a secluded spot, heard the 
voice of some one in prayer. "Stealing quietly forward, he saw Washington's horse 
tied to a sapling, and a little farther on, in a thicket, was the Chief on his knees, tears 
streaming down his cheeks, beseeching Heaven for the army and his country." 



Where rock on rock is piled, 
Where lordly oaks are clasped by graceful vines, 
And murmuring brooklets wander through the pines, 

And all is rude and wild ; 

Where leaps from tree to tree 
The graceful squirrel — where the wild bird sings 
Farewell to autumn, on departing wings, 

And hums the busy bee ; 

There, where no voice is heard. 
Save the low insects, mid the brown and green, 
And those sweet bird-notes ; while the leafy screen 

By their light wings is stirred ;. 



THE PBAYEli OF WASIIIXCiTOX. 137 

• 
There, low on bended knee, 

His broad brow lifted to the arching sky, 

With folded hands, and meek imploring eye, 

He prays, O God ! to Thee. 

" Father !" His heart is sad 
For those poor sufterers yonder in the camp ; 
Disease is there ; their huts are cold and damp ; 

They ask in vain for bread. 

" Father !" In years agone, 
A Christian mother taught those lips to pray, 
And yet he hears, though youth has passed away, 

That gentle teacher's tone. 

" Father ! " What can he do ? 
Those hearts, unflinching mid the battle's storm. 
Shrink back appalled at famine's haggard form ; 

How can the starved be true ? 

Long shadows drape the hill ; 
His voice alone jjoes trembling o'er the hush 



138 



LITTLE SHELLS. 

Which slowly settles over plain and bush, 
Till day's glad pulse is still. 

How can he let Thee go ! 
As Jacob wrestled with his Lord of old, 
With breaking heart, yet faith's unbroken hold, 

He wrestles with Thee now. 

The precious blessing came — 
Long-suffering freedom struggled into birth — 
Linked with his country's glory, o 'er the earth 

Echoes his honored name. 

" Pray always," One hath said : 
Columbia's heart entombs her Washington ; 
But who shall say her freedom was not won, 

Because in faith he prayed ? 



HOW CAN I FORGIVE? 



139 



HOW CAN I FORGIVE? 

How can I forgive ? they have clouded my brow ; 

With the net-work of care they have traced it ; 
From my lip and my cheek they have banished the glow, 

Ere the finger of time had effaced it. 

How can I forgive ! they are crying " aha ! '* 

As the hopes of my life are receding ; 
With a laugh and a sneer they are turning away, 

Crushing over the heart that lies bleeding. 

How can I forgive ? from the depths of despair 

I have cried unto them unregarded ; 
Yea, they troubled the waves overwhelming me there, 

And my struggle for life was retarded. 

How can I forgive ? upon Calvar}^'s tree 

Hung a sufterer, blameless forever, 
Saying, " Father forgive ! " shall a sinner like me 
Say, " I will not forgive them ? " no — never ! 



140 



LITTLE i^ HELLS. 



THE POET'S LOT. 

The poet's lot 
Is an empty cot, 

^Vhose roof is the upper blue ; 
And he measures his song, 
Through the nights so long, 

By the rain as it patters through. 

The poet's head 
On an earthy bed. 

And a wooden pillow lies ; 
While the wind doth blow, 
And the sheets of snow, 

Come and cover him up to his eyes. 

The poet's dreams 
Are beautiful beams 

From the land where all is bright ; 



THE POETS LOT. 141 

And at break of day, 
With no debts to pay, 

He sings on with a bosom light. 

The poet's rest 

Is within his breast, 

Where the cold world can 't intrude ; 
And he eats his crust, 
With a humble trust 

In the only Great and Good. 

7* 



142 



LITTLE SHELLS, 



LIFE'S WORK IS NEVER DONE. 

Strange languor through my being stole, 
Unsteady pulses heaved my breast ; 

On either cheek a crimson coal, 

Like fire on snow at eve, was pressed ; 

Could death be near? Oh ! not so soon — 

My life-star lingered at its noon, 
Far, iar away from West. 

7'iiey told nie of those meteor balls 

Which midway from tlie blue are tossed ; 

They bade me mark the leaf that falls 
Ere Summer's drought or Winter's frost ; 

*'To us " they said '• those stars are dim — 

That leaf is dead — but not to Him 
Whose works are never lost.'' 

My feet, reluctant, trod the strand 
Where lay beneath the silent sea ; 



LIFE'S WOBK IS XEVEll DONE. 143 

Beyond it loomed the Better Land, 

Where pain and care no more should be ; 

But, backward still my vision turned — 

For things behind my spirit yearned, 
And work undone by me. 

And there, beside that sea of graves. 

For many months and years I stood 
Where Azrael's flag forever waves — 

Oh ! dark, mysterious, sullen flood, 
'' Go down," they said, '' nor wish to stay ; 
'J'heir pilot cannot miss the way 

Who put their trust in God." 

Alas ! the hopes which death must still ; 

The plans in flower which tears had wet ; 
The crushing of that iron will 

Which linked these plans to glory yet ; 
High aims, through toil and anguish sought, 
Deferred by scorn, to heaven had brought 

The earth-sigh of regret. 



44 LITTLE SHELLS. 

Near and more near the billows swept ; 

My feet sank in the sliding sands ; 
Around my brow the coldness crept, 

And touched with ice my ashen hands ; 
Yet still I prayed, with pulses low, 
And while lips stiffening in their woe, 

For life's poor straining bands. 

Life ! life ! " I gasped — my feeble arm 
Yet pleading as my utterance died ; 

Life's angel caught my sinking form, 

And bore me back from death's dark tide ; 

He touched my lips with fire anew, 

The sluggish current bounded through 
The veins, so shrunk and dried. 

But, in my ear he murmured soft, 

" Now speed thy work in faith begun, 

For, as I bear thy form aloft, 

Truth's angel whispers ' Never done ! 

She lives again, to weep — to weave 

Bright webs of glass, which straws shall cleave, 
As mesh on mesh is spun.' " 



TIJE PASSIXG YEAR. 145 



THE PASSING YEAR. 

Passing year, thy shadows lay 
Heavy 011 my heart alway ; 
Backward with regretful look, 
Turn I to thy closing book ; 
Cherished hopes as dreams have sped, 
Lights I chased but danced and fled, 
And the loved ones, true and tried, 
As I leaned upon them, died. 
Here I hold a tress of hair ; 
Yonder stands the "vacant chair; '* 
Hands that plucked that faded rose 
Moulder in their last repose. 
Mirror mine ! thou giv'st not me 
Just the face I asked of thee ; 
Darker shadows cross the brow ; 
Lines of care are deeper now ; 



J 46 LITTLE SHELLS. 

Heavier pulses heave the breast ; 
AVearier spirit longs for rest. 
Ponder this, O heart of mine ! 
Holier grow, as years decline 



37 r WES TEEN HOME. 



M7 



MY WESTERN HOME. 

Softly lies the roseate glow, 
On these Eastern hills of snow ; 
Gaze I where the sun goes down, 
On the hills of white and brown, 
Thinking of my home away, 
Neath that setting orb of day — 
My western home. 

Stars unnumbered o'er me rise. 
Fire-drops in the azure skies ; 
One by one I miss their light, 
From the diadem of night ; 
Miss them with a starting tear. 
For they seem to set so near 
My western home. 

Morning brings her host of cares. 
Lights her fires, and spreads her wares ; 



48 LITTLE SHELLS. 

Noontide comes with kindlier face ; 
AVinter smiles with kindher grace ; 
Here I grasp a friendly hand ; 
Here I meet a cordial band, 
But sigh for home. 

I have pressed anew the sod 
Where my infant footsteps trod ; 
I have stood beneath the walls 
Echoing once a mother's calls ; 
Listening there I held my breath, 
For the voices hushed in death — 
Oh ! desolate home. 

AVhile I waited for the tones 
Of the dear departed ones, 
Living forms and voices came — 
Living sisters called my name ; 
Brothers of the heart said, " come ! 
Welcome weary wanderer home — 
Come home, come home ! " 



MY WESTEEX HOMJ-J. 149 

I have bent with reverent brow 

'er a father's ashes now ; 

1 have walked with softly tread 
Round a sister's narrow bed ; 
But I love a baby's grave 
Where the western forests wave — 

I must go home. 

Hearts are there long known and loved — 
Hearts by time and sorrow proved ; 
Hearts that saw me fade and pine, 
Like a rudely broken vine, 
Seeming not to love me less 
For my load of wretchedness— 
I will go home. 

Mother may forget her child ; 
Friends may frown who once have smiled ; 
Trust may be repulsed with scorn ; 
Love may plight her faith to mourn ; 
But till memory's light shall set, 
Never can my soul forget 
Mv v/estern home. 



i^o LITTLE SHELLS. 



"THE HEART WAS SO HOLLOW INSIDE. 

I sat in a lady's parlor ; 

The lady was very fair ; 
Silks rustled at every motion, 

And jewels gleamed in her hair ; 
For she was a rich man's lady, 

And able such things to wear. 

She sat embroidering worsted, 

In the sun's declining light, 
And smiled on two rosy children. 

As she stitched in the scarlet and white, 
The orange, and green, and purple ; 

And I thought it a beautiful sight. 

But I heard a sound of footsteps, 
Of little, pattering feet. 



THE IIEAJRT WAS SO HOLLOW INSIDER 151 

Just as the wind was rising, 

And the rain was turning to sleet ; 
And heard two wee-bit voices, 

As the storm on the windows beat. 

Then I heard the door bell ringing, 

And ringing, and ringing, in vain, 
And the tones of the wee-bit voices. 

As I listened and listened again ; 
And the harsh rebuke of a servant 

Rang out through the icy rain. 

Then those pattering feet came nearer ; 

And close by the window was laid 
A little white face, and round it 

Bright curls of chestnut played ; 
That face was hollow and hungry, 

And the little white lips said : 



" A small bit of bread, good lady. 
For my little brother and me ; 



152 LITTLE SHELLS. 

We hav^e tried to get work, but cannot ; 

W^e are so little, you see, 
I'hat the men only laugh, when 7ve ask them ; 

Oh ! lady, so hungry we be !" 

Then she lifted her eyes from the worsted, 
Her smile giving place to a frown, 

And her voice grew sharp and angry, 
And she said, " Dirty beggar, begone ! 

Your lingers will mark the window ; 
Get down, noisy fellow, get down ! 

Street beggars are troublesome creatures," 
She remarked, as her needle she plied ; 

But, the beauty I worshiped had vanished, 
For the heart was so hollow inside ; 

I wondered if under all heaven 

VJas another so shrunken and dried. 

I followed those sobbing children. 
Away o'er the desolate moor, 



THE IIEAHT WAS SO HOLLOW INSIDER 153 

Till their little blue fingers lifted 

The latch of their mother's door, 
Where the rain beat down through the rafters, 

And froze, as it streamed o'er the floor. 

I bent o'er her hard, cold pillow ; 

She whispered, " Oh ! give them bread ! " 
And I answered, " God, help me, only 

As I stand in their mother's stead " — 
With her heart's last throb she blessed me, 

Then want's poor child was dead. 



154 



LITTLE SHELLS. 



THE CITY OF THE FLEAS. 

I want to sing a little song, 
The country folks to please, 

And make them happy where they are— 
A song about the fleas. 

The rains were gone, the crops were in, 

And wife began to teaze 
To see the city on the bay; 

She never thought of fleas. 

" Take me, papa," said petted Kate, 
That romped beneath the trees ; 

*' I would be still and good — I would ! " 
She had not heard of fleas. 

So down we went by stage and cars, 
Through dust that made us sneeze, 



THE CITY OF THE FLEAS. 

Took lodgings at The Grand Hotel, 
But never " ordered " fleas. 

Wife bought a wig, a " Grecian bend," 

And things to match with these, 
And soon her trailing skirts began 

To gather in the fleas. 

We walked, and rode, and felt as proud 

As any rich grandees ; 
Well pleased with all we saw — except 

The San Francisco fleas. 

We went to ^' Woodward's Gardens," and 

AVere happy, if you please, 
But took a host of " bosom friends " 

We did not pay for— fleas. 

We went to hear " Grace Greenwood " speak ; 
I sat firm as a cheese, 



155 



156 



LITTLE SHELLS. 

Till stung " to death," from head to heel, 
By those terrific fleas. 

I tried to be sublime, and soar 

Above low things like these, 
When wife, within her crinoline, 

Whispered, " O dear ! the fleas ! " 

Papa ! " aloud screamed little Kate, 
" They 're eating up my knees ! " 

And quick I bolted for the street. 
With family — and fleas. 

We went to see " The Fourth of July, 

And faced a cutting breeze. 
That whirled the sand about our ears, 

Peppered throughout with fleas. 

We went to see all sights — all sounds 
That any hears or sees ; 



THE CITY OF THE FLEAS. 

But memory's landmarks, slightly set, 
Are toppling o'er with fleas. 

You may be rich, you may be great, 

But can not live at ease, 
And share your sheets and pantaloons 

With half a million fleas. 

Wife says to-day, " This dear old house, 

So cosy in the trees. 
Is better than a palace in 

The City of the Fleas ! " 



157 



1^8 LITTLE H HELLS, 



"SOMETHING THAT WAS MY MOTHER'S.' 

Far in an eastern homestead, 

A thousand miles away, 
Where an estate was settled, 

And came the " auction " day ; 



A tall man bore him proudly — 

The son executor ; 
The auctioneer was screaming. 

And all the crowd astir. 



In lots were things assorted 

To give them speedier sale- 
Sofas, and chairs, and tables. 
Bedding and linen pale. 

All sorts of curious glasses. 
And delicate china ware. 



j 

i 
SOMETHING THAT WA8 MY MOTHERS: 



159 



Carpets, and quilts, and blankets, 
In deft array were there. 

Naught was of latest fashion, 
But all unmarred and good ; 

My duty was to purchase 
As cheaply as I could. 

I stood before the china, 

Awaiting for its turn, 
Attracted by some vases, 

And one neat breakfast urn. 

I heard a voice behind me — 
A low beseeching tone — 

Say, " Something that was mother's, 
One little vase or spoon." 

I heard the surly answer : 

" The last thing shall be sold ; 



i6o LITTLE SHELLS. 

Our father left you nothing ; 
How can you be so bold ? " 

" O, yes ! my angry father 
Left all his wealth to you, 
But I am still your sister ; 
One angel loved the two. 

" Something that was my mother's,' 
She pleaded low again ; 

" Some little thing of beauty. 
Or this old counterpane." 

And fast her bony fingers 
Ran nervous o'er its flowers, 

Their knotted outlines tracing. 
As in her childhood's hours. 



" Give me this one thing, Allen, 
And I will go away ; 



' SOMETinXfr THAT IV AS JIY WJTHEIC'Sr x6i 

My mother died beneath it 
Five years ago to-day." 

She opened wide its foldings ; 
She wet it with her tears ; 
" Away ! " he sternly muttered, 

" How have you kept those years ? " 

" I know I loved not wisely — 
But ah ! I loved too well ; 
Please, something that was mother's — " 
The auction hammer fell. 

" Stand back ! " As Heaven is witness, 
A moment I was tried. 
For I was there to purchase 
The outfit of a bride. 

But, when her hand released it, 
I only felt her pain, 



1 62 LITTLE SHELLS. 

And bought that sorrowing woman 
Her mother's counterpane. 

Too full her thanks to utter ; 

My outstretched hand she kissed ; 
And tearful neighbors blessed me, 

While "Allen's " name they hissed. 



F^iLL OF THE CHAllTER OAK. 163 



FALL OF THE CHARTER OAK. 

Gone, ancient tree ! another cord doth sunder 
Which Unks affection to the hallowed past ; 

No more beneath thy sheltering boughs we ponder — 
There 's naught so sacred but it falls at last. 

Gone, forest monarch ! many a year ago 

The Indian hunter rested in thy shade, 
On thy broad branches hung the winter's snow, 

And wind-rocked cradles with thy young leaves played. 

We need not tell thy tale ; the little child, 
Taught by its mother, lisps it at the hearth, 

How in thy bosom deftly lay concealed 

That Chartered Right which gave a nation birth. 

How old wert thou when great Columbus sailed 
O'er the blue deep, hope in his bosom rife ? 



1 64 LITTLE SHELLS. 

How hath Tradition's misty record paled, 
Since in thy arteries waked the pulse of life ! 

King of the forest where the wigwam stood. 
Meet habitation for rude nature's child, 

Where the brown maiden, mirrored in the flood, 
Shook her dark tresses at the waves and smiled. 

Count us thy years : the hand of Time hath swept 
Thy forest brothers slowly from thy side ; 

City on city into life hath crept, 

As westward rolled vast emigration's tide ; 

While thou hast stood, in solemn grandeur still,^ 
With outstretched arms thy welcome mute to say, 

And thousands gathered where thy shadows fell, 
Awed by the relic of a by-gone day. 

No voice. O man ! short-sighted, weak and vain ! 

Mocked by the mystery of that ancient tree — 
Thou only knowest, 'mid winds and driving rain, 

'T is crushed and scattered, and doth cease to be. 



THE HVMAN JJJ20W. 165 



THE HUMAN BROAV. 

The human brow, the human brow ! 

How cold, and cahii, and white ! 
With passion's fire 't is glowing — now 

With virtue's holier light ; 
It wears the mystic web of care, 

The mystic sign of love, 
The impress of untold despair, 

The seaJ of Heaven above. 

Inscribed upon its arch sublime 
It wears a world of thought ; 

The Day Book of relentless Time, 
'T is marred with many a blot ; 

The lips may smile, the cheeks be dry, 
And tell no tale of grief, 

The breaking heart may check the sigh 

Whose utterance were relief; 
8* 



i66 LITTLE SHELLS. 

But Nature's tablet still doth tell 

Where sorrow long hath dwelt; 
Though lying lips proclaim, " 't is well," 

The brow is marked with guilt ; 
Those stenographic words, so dim, 

Elude the careless gaze, 
But Nature's student renders them, 

Through pride's concealing haze. 

And he whose lips are moistened yet 

With sorrow's bitter dew. 
Will know his " brother," and regret 

That record should be true ; 
Too well he knows the dismal sweep 

Of agony's cold pen ; 
And shuddering through his veins doth creep 

His own wild woes again. 

That "brotherhood " of woe, alas ! 
Griefs mute fraternity, 



THE HUMAN nicOlV. 167 

Unrecognized they come, and pass, 

As bubbles on the sea ; 
Their dim " regalia " is not seen 

By men of happier mould ; 
They meet, embrace, and part again, 

Till life's sad tale is told. 

The human brow, the human brow ! 

Most hallowed be its name ! 
O, sully not that sheet of snow, 

With the red brand of shame ; 
Nor lines of grief, nor lines of care 

Its beauty can remove, 
If " Purity " be written there, 

By Htm whose name is " Love. 



i68 lATTLK SHELLS. 



"I THANK THEM FOR THEH^ SCORN." 

I thank them for their scorn ! 
Had they not rudely on my heart-strings pressed 
High thoughts, Hke these, that reign within my breast, 

Had ne'er of hope been born. 

Had they not coldly cast 
Their deep contempt upon my mental powers, 
I ne'er had dared to dedicate my hours 

To purposes so vast. 

I was a lonely child — 
My fitful fancy wandering far away — 
Though with my mates I shouted in my play, 

With footsteps fleet and wild. 

Visions of power and fame, 
' Distant and dim," passed o'er my mental sight ; 



" / THAXK THEM FOJ? THETIt SCOJiX.'' 169 

My restless spirit panted for the might 
Of manhood's hardier frame. 

But when, at last, I grew 
To manhood's stature, friends grew strangely cold, 
And thought me foolish, confidant and bold, 

Because my strength I knew. 

T//ey claim the right, supreme, 
To fetter down a free, aspiring mind, 
By common rules its energies to bind, 

And bid it cease to dream ! 

What ! quell the soul of man ? 
Like the strong steed that fiercely champs his bit, 
I scorn their power ; I can but stamp and fret, 

Till in life's batUe van. 

Though I a beggar be, 
O, soul of mine ! hold fast thy purpose high, 
Till, firmly set in mind's imperial sky, 

Her stars acknowledge thee. 



lyo LITTLE SHELLS. 



LETTERS. 

I am going to write — and I " care not a straw " 
If I do meet the frowns of my betters ; 

For I know of no reason in ethics or law, 
Why I can 't write a chapter on " letters," 

Those sweet little messengers, laden though light, 

Which steal in like good angels, by day and by night. 

I care not for the paper — its texture or hue, 
If it 's rose-tinted, gilt-edged, or yellow ; 

If a stiff sheet of fooFs-cap, all belted with blue, 
Or as soft as a peach when it 's mellow ; 

I care not if it 's written in " coarse hand " or " fine," 

If I see a friend's cognomen — and it is mine. 

I care not if the writing goes zig-zag around. 
Like an awkward young ox when he 's goaded, 



LET T Eli S. 171 



I care not if it prances and flies o'er the ground, 

Like a restive young colt when it 's loaded ; 
I care not if affection has blotted them there, 
If its commas are dashes — its periods nowhere. 

But I care for its meaning — the face which it w^ears, 

Whose expression I only can render ; 
For the heart which, unfettered by prudery, dares 

To write words for my reading so tender ; 
For the heart, unsuspicious and truthful, that says 
" I have loved — I do love — I will love you always." 

I care not for beginnings — care not for the ends, 

If they come to me often and duly, 
Though I think the epistles which pass between friends 

Should be closed with " I 'm yours," or "yours truly." 
" Yours cordially,"—" faithfully,"—" ever " will do, 
But " respectfully " never, that freezes me blue. 

It will do for a dun, for a lavv'yer, a prude. 

For the man who by coldness would "cut" you ; 



172 



L TT TLE SITEL LS. 



But I'm sure hQt\\eQY\f?'iefids it is icy and rude, 

As if sa3dng '^ with strangers I put you." 
Oh ! Ihe letter that 's simple, impulsive, and free 
As a sun-beam from heaven, is the letter foi me. 



]VIIAT DO WE STPJVE FOJ^? 



173 



WHAT DO WE STRIVE FOR? 

The longest life must end in death ; 

"What do we strive for here ? 
Fame also hath her living breath — 

Her last words and her bier ; 
Why spend our little inch of time 

In longing to be great ; 
Man's records are as pencilled rhyme, 

As figures on a slate. 
Enjoy the flowers, aspiring fool ! 

That deck thy youthful way ; 
At life's hot noon enjoy the cool 

Where shadowy fountains play ; 
When glimmering sinks life's western sun, 

Crave not its rise anew ; 
Rejoice ! for weary nights are gone, 

And Heaven's sweet morn in view. 



174 



LITTLE SHELLS. 



GREAT MEN NEVER DIE. 

Where suns have set, a glory stays 

That lingers long behind ; 
So memory floods, with hallowed rays, 

The western gates of mind. 
The great man sleeps, but cannot die ; 

In all his works he breathes ; 
The billowy years roll proudly by, 

Crowned with his laurel wreathes ; 
And ages, with imperial sweep. 
Still pass them on, from deep to deep. 



THE DRAYMAX'S IIOnSE. 175 



THE DRAYMAN'S PIORSE. 

I will tell you a story. Some years ago — 

Fifteen or twenty — no matter now — 

In a far-famed city — no matter where, 

Nor how I, your servant, happened there — 

A man was driving a poor old grey 

In a crazy cart on the public way ; 

He had trodden that pavement for many a year, 

When the skies were black — when the skies were clear ; 

Walking himself his horse to spare, 

For " Pompey " he loved with affection rare. 

Pompey was ancient and sadly worn — 

His mane and tail had grown forlorn ; 

His back was crooked, and low his head ; 

His heels were heavy as lumps of lead ; 

He seemed to be dropsical in his knees ; 

His breath came forth with a pitiful wheeze ; 

Oh ! he looked like a spider, made up of legs. 

Or a poor old stick, driven full of pegs. 



176 LITTLE SHELLS 

But a time is decreed for men to die, 
And if not for horses, we wonder why ; 
Poor " Pompey " had Hved his time, and he 
Lay down in his harness and ceased to be. 
His master jerked and jerked the rein ; 

*' Get up old hoss ! " he cried in vain. 
There he lay, like a log, in his olden tracks, 
Undisturbed by the wheels of the passing hacks 
While a traveler here, and a traveler there, 
Turned aside from his errand to stop and stare. 
One only mourner beside him wept, 
While there in his harness, at rest, he slept. 
Said his poor, old master in piteous tone : 

" I 'm a beggar now, for my /loss is gone ! 
I have no home, nor friends, nor kin ; 
Nobody will pity nor take me in. — 

Oh ! how shall I earn another cent, 
For that poor old hovel, to pay the rent ; 
And my dear old woman is blind and deaf; 
Where — where in the world can I find relief?" 



THE DBAYMAN'S HOFuSE. 

A murmur ran throughout the crowd ; 

Some whispered, " I 'm sorry ! " — some spoke aloud ; 

" Poor man ! — alas ! that the beast should die ! " 
(They needed but onions to make them cry ;) 

" Poor man ! — poor soul ! — what will he do ? " 
Was echoed by every comer new, 
Till a thousand, or more, or less, had said : 

" Poor man ! I am sorry your horse is dead ; 
You had but him and that one old dray 
To earn your living, from day to day ; 
There lies the horse, and the cart moves not ; 
Oh ! sorrow and tears are our earthly lot." 
Then I said in my heart — / was younger then — 

" Each will give him a dollar to start again ] " 
But nobody whispered, " I '11 give my part 
Towards buying a horse to start that cart ; " 
Though their faces were long as rails, I ween, 
And I wondered—/^/- then I was very ^^ green /^^ 

" What is the matter ? " a stranger cried. 
And, thither and yonder, he pushed them aside ; 



177 



1 78 • LITTLE SHELLS, 

" I see — I see — his horse is no more ; 
His coat is ragged ; he 's old and poor ; 
Look up, my friend ! I am sorry for you ; 
Just fifty dollars — no thanks — adieu ? " 
So saying, he left in his hand that sum. 
The astonished crowd grew strangely mum ; 
In another moment the ground was clear, 
Nor moist where they stood with a single tear. 
And I said in my heart, " Can this be real ? " 
There were many to speak, but one to feel ! 



THEY WANT TO KNOW. 



179 



THEY WANT TO KNOW. 

They want to know how old I am, 

How long I have been married ; 
If I have journeyed far and wide, 

Or if at home have tarried ; 
They ask me where I went to school, 

And just how many quarters — 
If I was trained with city belles, 

Or 'mong the farmers' daughters. 

They want to know about my shawl. 

And where I found my bonnet. 
How many yards, and what I paid 

For all the ribbon on it. 
They want to know how much I work, 

And if it 's profitable, 
And if I use a silver fork 

Or steel one, at the table. 



i8o LITTLE SlIELL^^. 

They want to know about the man 

Who wooed my eldest sister, 
They 'd hke to know how many times 

He visited and kissed her ; 
They want to know who tied the knot, 

A Methodist or Baptist, 
And which of all that preacher's sons 

At learning was the aptest. 



They want to know how long it was 

Before a crib was wanted, 
And if the baby proved a girl — 

If " Pa " was disappointed. 
They want to know if sister keeps 

A nm-se and kettle-washer. 
And if a mastiff churns her cream, 

Or if they use a dasher. 



They want to know a thousand things 
1 do not mean to tell them, 



THEY WANT TO KNOW. i8i 

About the folks they '11 never see, 

And all that e'er befell them. 
I would I were a bird or bat, 

I 'd fly away forever, 
And hide me in some quiet nook 

Where I 'd be questioned never. 
9 



LITTLE .SHELLS. 



HOW "TOM JONES" BECAME "MR. JONES" AND 
"THOMAS JONES, ESQ." 

OR, "i'll sign if you'll sign." 

A TEMPERANCE STORY IN VERSE. 

Thomas Jones was a printer. His youth proniised fair 
That his prime should be honored ; the child of a pair, 
Who were honest of heart and had taught him to go 
In the safe path of virtue while dwelling below. 

But the Demon INTEMPERA^XE stood up in his way. 

With his sword ready whetted his victim to slay. 

" Come ! come ! " said he blandly ; " there's pleasure with me ; 

I am king of the jovial, the happy and free. 

Come drink of the nectar that foams in my bov.L, 

And the cares of the world shall sit light on thy soul ; 

Keen sorrow may sharpen its arrows in vain. 

And whatever thy lot thou wilt scorn to complain ; 



" T03I JONES'.'' 

The dark billows of change shall roll o'er thee unfelt, 
And the storms of adversity powerlessly pelt 
On the head I will arm with a helmet of steel, 
For the friends of my bosom no anguish can feel." 
Then he paused for an answer. 



Deep buried in thought, 
Tom reflected and doubted, yet answered him not. 
He was thinking of lessons learned early in life, 
Of his gray-headed parents and beautiful wife ; 
Those parents w^ho told him there \vas but one road 
Led to happiness here, and hereafter to God. 
And he thought of the maiden so happy and gay. 
Who had turned from her father and mother away ; 
Who had broke from her sisters, that artlessly clung 
To her neck, when the parting words over them rung ; 
Of the brothers who failed their keen anguish to hide, 
When they left the last kiss on the lips of "the bride." 

Then a smile curled the lip of the wily old fiend. 
For he saw in this doubting no doubt of the end. 



183 



1 84 LITTLE SHELLS, 

Lo ! the man who doth doubt is already enshived — 
So the name of " Tom Jones " on his roll he engraved. 

" Come and try me," he said, " thou wilt waste but an hour ; 
If my promise prove false, thou wilt still have the power 
To return to the dull, plodding duties of life, 
To remember thy parents and cherish thy wife ; " 
And poor Thomas reluctantly yielded assent, 
And was led, like a blind man, wherever he went. 

There was music and laughter, the wine sparkled bright; 
There were savory viands on tablecloths white, 
And bewitching companions of fashion and pride, 
And he turned from the whisper of ^^ Home" at his side. 
There the night passed in riot, and chained to the spot 
There the morning light found him, an embryo Sot. 

A poor drunkard he lived, till his friends almost all 
Ceased to think of him kindly, or mourn for his fall. 
Only " Mary" yet loved him — his parents were gone — 
And his drunken companions dropped off one by one ; 



" TOM JONES y 185 

Only "• Mary " yet met him with smiles when he came, 
And in accents of kindness repeated his name. 
And as oft as there glimmered of reason a ray, 
O'er the ruin Rum made him. he blessed her alway. 



Peter Clark w-as a merchant, w^ell known for his wealth, 
For his foresight, and prudence, contentment, and health 
Gave a glow to his cheek ; tall, erect as a pine, 
He drank nothing save water, tea, coffee or wine ; 
He drafik wifie, just enough to feel sprightly and well ; 
And he scorned those weak mortals who tasted and fell. 
When old Alcohol's victims reeled into his store, 
He arose — said, " Get out sirs ! — sirs ! there is the door ! " 

Now the " cold water " people at last were awaking 
To a sense of their duty — the Rum-king was quaking. 
They had spies on his movements, all true and alert, 
AVho were bribing his soldiers his flag to desert ; 
And they fought with his legions on mountain and plain, 
In the streets of the cities, and ships on the main ; 



1 86 LITTLE SHELLS. 



While the cowards who dared not change masters and fight, 
In their hearts wished God-speed to the champions of right. 



Peter Clark in his counting room Hngering alone, 

Sat in silent reflection — clerks, customers gone. 

All alone, did we say was our merchant to-night ? 

No, for Conscience was there in her terrible might, 

" Thou ! " she said, " art the tree that dost cumber the 

ground. 
And no fruit on thy branches forever is found ; 
Thou dost keep thy own weaknesses snug on the shelf. 
And despise thy poor neighbor, the pitiful elf; 
Every man is thy brother ; no scorn in thy eye 
Should repulse the poor drunkard who passes thee by ; 
Thou shouldst speak to him kindly, beseech him to hear 
For her sake, who yet loves him, her children so dear. 
Promise speedy redemption from suffering and shame, 
And let words and exa7nples be one and the same." 

And the still voice of Truth gained a mighty control 
O'er his habits of thinkins: — li2:ht came to his soul. 



*' TO:SI JOKESr 187 

Then he thought of Tom Jones, and his pitiful plight — 
Whom so often he 'd bidden " begone from his sight '* 
To his destitute wife and three famishing boys, 
To distract her with curses, and scare them with noise. 
And he thought of the ^'pledge'' for such people " to sign," 
Which admits of " no brandy, nor whisky, nor wine." 
Ei'en JONES might be saved, were his name on the list. 
And he thought he would ask him to " sign " — but, he 'd 

missed 
Him some time from his door — what the reason could be, 
He was quick to imagine, " some pitiful spree." 

Hark ! a footstep — a heavy and blundering tread 
Breaks the stillness of night ; and as people have said 
Of the Arch-Rogue himself — who is sure to appear 
When we're thinking about him — so Thomas is here; 
Not improved, but grown worse during absence, 'tis clear. 

" Good e 'en, Mr. Merchant. The Temperance folks 
Are all after me now with their ' pledges ' and jokes ; 
They beset me so hard to go down v/here they meet, 



1 88 LITTLE SHELLS. 

That in running away I fell flat in the street. 
But, thinks I to myself, ' I 'm no turn-coat, not I ; 
I will drink what I please, and whenever I 'm dry. 
I have drank all my life, I am hearty and hale, 
And I won't tack about now I'm under full sail. 
I'm a man, though a drunkard, and minus a dime, 
I have wallowed in gutters, but never in crime.' " 

" Nay ! nay ! my good friend," said the merchant, " I think 
'T is a terrible crime to indulge in strong drink ; 
And the ' Temperance Pledge ' is an excellent thing. 
The poor, wavering sons of temptation to bring 
From the depths of delusion, to reason and right ; 
And I beg you will sign it — come, promise to-night !" 

Thomas Jones straightened up ; then he stroked his red 

nose, 
Tied his mud-si^attered kerchief, looked down at his toes ; 
Took his hat from his head, and adjusted the crown, 
AVhich had swung like a gate on one hinge, up and down ; 
Shook his coat-skirt, all tattered, that trailed on the floor, 



" TOM JOXES:' 1 8c 

With the dirt it had gathered outside of the door ; 
Then, feeling his courage was up to the mark, 
He repHed, looking sternly in earnest at Clark : 

*' Mr. Clark, you might lecture an hour or a day ; 
I should know 't was all humbug — a scene in a play ; 
Let the wise man walk straight, and the fool lead along, 
And not shout as he stumbles, ' hallo ! there ; you 're wrong ! 
I am out of the turnpike, but you are there too ; 
You leap over the mud, while I stick in the slough ; 
You have wine at your dinners ; I 've whisky, you see ; 
You're too proud \.o get drunk, and be caught in a spree ; 
You would dirty your wrist-bands, so stiff and so fine, 
And the crown of your hat would flip-flap just like mine; 
You would scare all the ladies ; the dogs would all bark, 
And the school boys would follow you tcazijig ^ old Clark.'' 
How I wish I could preach — but, you asked me to sig7i — 
When you write your own cognomen, scribble down mine. 
But, good e'en, Mr. Merchant, quite sober I 'm growing, 
I 've one friend who ne'er chides me — to her I am going." 



9* 



ic)o LITTLE SHELLS. 



Now the sermon Tom preached was so pointed and true, 

And presented in colors so clear to his view . 

The fact, that all lessons that aim at the heart 

Should be backed by example — not taught as an art ; 

That he felt in his bosom an arrow lay deep, 

And a conscience once troubled no longer could sleep. 

" I will sign if you '11 sign " was not silenced nor hushed ; 
" If I ' sign ' I may save him, so blighted and crushed." 
It wailed in the night wind that lifted his hair. 
It creaked as he rocked to and fro in his chair ; 
It was written in letters fantastic and tall. 
Where the candle light flickered all over the wall. 

He looked down at his watch — it was two hours past nine, 
And he started for home ; but; " I '11 sign if you '11 sign " 
In the voice of his wife, ever happy and clear, 
In an under-tone startled him — why was it here I 
And the little feet pattering like mice o'er the floor 
Said, " I '11 sign if you '11 sign," — and repeated it o'er. 



'* TOM JONES.'' 

He retired to repose on a soft downy bed, 
With a weight on his heart hke a mountain of lead. 
And no sleep o'er his senses stole gently and kind, 
But a dream full of horrors affrighted his mind. 

He dreamed he was walking, afar from the throng, 
Where a beautiful river rolled sweetly along. 
Through a flower-skirted valley that nestled betv/een 
Two mountains, whose summits were mantled in green ; 
And the gray rocks hung o'er him, as vast and sublime 
As eternity's arch o'er the Ocean of Time. 

He looked up with reverence to Him who had laid 
Their mighty foundations, and thankfully prayed 
That He who had given kirn a path to pursue — 
Where grandeur and loveliness gladdened his view — 
Would help him to pity the lonely and sad. 
Whose voices had ceased with their youth to be glad ; 
Whose ways lay through morasses, deserts, and dells, 
Where thorns grow profusely, and bitter the wells ; 
Where the beast in his fury roams over the plain, 



191 



19 2 LITTLE SHELLS. 

And the hot, heavy sand falls like pattering rain ; 

Where hope's last ray of light waxes faint and goes down, 

And the wretched one doubts, and despairs, and is gone. 

Lo I his path turned abruptly — a cottage was there — 
And a shriek from its windows broke forth on the air. 
'T was the shriek of a woman in peril of life — 
And he sped to the spot — 't was the drunkard's poor wife. 
'T was the wife of a demon, whom rum had made so, 
And the husband, Tom Joxes — was he aiming the blow. 
The children, half starved, were all weeping around, 
And his presence there only had stayed the death wound. 
O Heaven ! what wretchedness, hunger and dirt ! 
Some wrapped in old blankets, some lacking a shirt ; 
Their feet were all shoeless, their hair stiff and long, 
And feathers and straws in its meshes held strong ; 
They stared at him wildly, then crouched down in fear, 
For no stranger had entered their door for a year. 
And their mother, whose spirit was crushed by despair. 
Had ceased to watch o'er them with kindness and care. 



TOM JONES :' 



193 



" Stay — stay thy hand, ruffian ! What ! murder her now, 
With the same hand that penciled this blight on her brow ? 
Remember ! she trustfully gave thee her heart 
In life's morning of gladness, unsullied by art ; 
In the pride of her beauty, surrounded by friends, 
Thou didst swear to protect her — alas, how it ends ! " 
" I will sign if you '11 sign," was the ready reply ; 
"If you will not, I '11 drink till a drunkard I die." 

He awoke with a shiver and turned on his bed — 
There was dew on his temples and pain in his head. 
*•' Oh ! am I the man who is doing all this ? 
Is a hearth-stone by me robbed of plenty and bliss ? 
Lo ! the wretch I might save from the horrors of sin 
By a word of my mouth, and might easily win 
From his dark, thorny path to the brightness of mine, 
I thus leave to destruction, and cling to my wine. 
God of mercy forgive me ; I '11 sign if he '11 sign ! " 

Our merchant was seated again at his books, 
Confused was his brain and perturbed were his looks ; 



194 



LITTLE SHELLS, 



He blotted his '• ledger," mis-spelled and crossed out, 
He wrote names so crooked they wheeled right about. 
Mischarged and wrote, "Debtor to" — " Sign if you'^ll sigit'^ 
" Paid Mr. John Murphy " — '■'' No po?'te7' nor wine." 
Then provoked at himself to be scared by a dream. 
Though the very idea brought back that shrill scream, 
He arose from his desk to gaze out on the street ; 
When along comes Tom Jones with his clattering feet. 

Lo ! his boot soles are loose and the leather is gone, 
Till the school-boys have counted his toes every one, 
As they chased him from corner to corner, en masse. 
Crying, " Face about Captain, your sandals won't pass ; " 
His old beaver is flapping its wing in the wind. 
And his neck-kerchief streams its long pennants behind ; 
His coat has quite lost its poor recreant skirt, 
And displays his suspenders and tattered old shirt ; 
While the cuff of one sleeve is entirely gone. 
And the other is ready to follow it soon. 

" Any pipes, Mr. Clark } I 'm quite sober you see. 
Will vou trust me ? all others refuse to trust me. 



TOM JONES. 



195 



While my money held out they were all very civil, 
But they run from me now, like the saints from the Devil. 
' There 's old Thomas.' they say, 'kick him out of the store. 
Get away, you old brute ! ' they cr}^, shutting the door." 

" Take a dozen of pipes ; you are welcome to-day 
My good friend, Mr. Jones ; glad to see you this way. 
Let us go now, my brother, and write our names down 
On the ' Temperance Pledge ' — both your name and my ownP 

"Agreed !" replied Thomas, "a liar I 'm not, 
And no man from this hour shall call me ' a sot.' 
Let us keep it a secret. To-night I '11 go home 
Just as straight as a deacon — why thus I have come 
Will astonish my wife, and quite frighten my boys — 
Who will miss all my cursing, and swearing, and noise ; 
And my wife will conclude I am out of my head, 
When she sees me go sober and quiet to bed. ' 

I wdll do this a month, till she thinks me quite mad, 
And in view of my 'craziness ' seems very sad." 



196 LITTLE SHELLS. 

" And when I shall have earned all that comfort requires, 
For food and for clothing, for candles and fires ; 
When my hat like a mail's on my head shall be put, 
And my hair on my temples be decently cut ; 
When the last filthy rag shall be torn from my back, 
And my boots leave behind them a gentleman's track ; 
Then, then I will tell to my Mary the truth, 
And her smile shall be glad as the smile of her youth." 

And away went Tom Jones, and the merchant went too ; 

And the people all laughed as the street they went through. 

Such a contrast to see ; every window and door 

Was now crowded with heads, as it ne'er was before ; 

And they giggled, and shouted, and wondered, to see 

" Such a gentleman going in low company." 

Mr. Clark cared but little ; Tom cared not at all — 

For they often had laughed at him when he did fall 

In some gutter by chance, when his eyes had been dim, 

And the boys had thrown stones and cried out, " Let him 

swim." 
So they stared till they wearied ; and after all, when 



TOM JONES r 197 



They had half strained their eyes out, they only saw men. 
And both did '■'■sign the pledged And, as homeward they 

went, 
They both felt the last hour had most wisely been spent, 

From that hour Thomas Jones never ceased from his work, 
Though his former companions around him did lurk ; 
Though his appetite craved for its portion again, 
With a tear in his eye and a weight on his brain, 
He wrought steadily on from the morning till night, 
And was toiling anew at the daw^ning of light. 

The benevolent marked him. The case, they resolved, 

Was " a case in which piety's self was involved." 

They rejoiced, and encouraged with kindness the heart 

In the pathway of duty now ready to start ; 

They gave him employment, and cheered him with gold, 

Paying more than he charged them — the half was not told. 

Thus a month rolled away ; and his wife, as he said. 
Was astonished to see him so early to bed. 



198 LITTLE SHELLS. 

The little ones played as he entered the door, 
Never running to hide, as they 'd hidden before. 
And his wife truly feared he 7aas crazed in his braifi. 
As he went and returned ; went, and came yet again ; 
Till the very last day of the time set apart 
To keep secret his plan from the loved of his heart ; 
Then with pockets well-filled, with the money to get 
What would bring back the smile of his own Mary yet, 
He set out on his errand, with pleasure and pride, 
And first called at a tailor's. 

" The grog shop 's that side," 
Said the tailor, alarmed lest some people might think 
If he greeted him kindly, he too liked to drink. 

" Have you ready-made clothing," he said, " Mr. Shears ?" 
" Go away, you vile drunkard ! I '11 cut ofi" your ears." 
" Will 3'ou hear me ? " said Jones, looking right in his face, 
" If I do n't get it here, I '11 try some other place. 
I have money 3'ou see ! " — and his pocket he shook ; 
Till the tailor amazed at the jingle did look. 



TOM JONES :' 199 



" I have cash as 3^011 see , will you suit me or not ? " 

'' Oh ! walk in Mr. Jones, I 've the best can be bought ; 
Here's a vest, here a coat, here some pantaloons nice;" 
And he said " Mr. Joxes " seventeen times and twice. 
He took every thing down, with a bow and a smile, 
Never wondering what people might think all the while, 
And on tiptoe he walked, and he walked very tall, 
As Jones tried them ail on, and then paid for them all. 
"You may send these," said Thomas — that tailor felt neat — 
As he answered, " I will sir, to Washington street." 

Next he went to a milliner's. Walking right in, 

He accosted a damsel, tall, pretty and thin. 

" What 's the price of this bonnet ? " when lo ! how her 

cheeks 
Turn the color of ashes, and hark ! how she shrieks. 
Then, recovering herself, she stands pressing her heart, 
As if holding its fragments, all breaking apart. 
" Did-you-ask-for-a-bonnet-sir ? " gasping for breath. 



20 LITTLE SHELLS, 

*' And which one ? " 

" The white satin one, trimmed with a wreath. 
AVhat 's the price of it ? " 

" Price — sir — excuse me — three — four, 
Just four dollars it is sir — I think it's no more." 
" Well here is the pay, miss." 

" Pray where shall I send it sir ? 
Excuse me — I feared sir — pray do n't be offended sir." 

" Well, my business," said he, as he entered the street, 
" Is alarming the ladies, and all whom I meet. 
I am dressed as Tom Jones, and wherever I come 
They all think of ' delirium tremens ' and ' rum.' " 

Then he went to the shoemaker's, buying boots there, 

And of shoes for his family many a pair. 

And the shoemaker, just like the tailor, received 

Him quite coolly at first, till his soul was relieved. 

Seeing money to pay for them ; then he forgot 

That " some people might see him chit-chat with a sot." 



"T03/ JONESr 20I 

Then he purchased some goods of his friend Mr. Clark ; 
Then he went to a grocery — this brings us to " dark." 
And the grocer repulsed him till cash was revealed ; 
Then on tiptoe he simpered, and balanced and wheeled, 
Showing sugar, molasses, rice, coffee, and tea, 
Saying, " please call again sir, you '11 know where we be." 

Next he went to the meat shop — he boldly stepped in, 

Though 't was long, very long, since a meat-block he 'd seen. 

There two rumsellers stood, looking at him aghast, 

As straight up to the butcher before them he passed. 

" What 's the price of this round ? " said he, touching some 

beef. 
As he thought of how long he had had none with grief. 

" Beef! beef! ?" said the butcher, his jaws set apart 

Till one might have gone down with a pony and cart. 

" Beef! beef! ? " said the rumsellers — "beef! did he say? 

Why the man is demented — he never can pay ! " 

" Yes, beef! " echoed Jones, "you all heard me I know, 

Yet you all look amazed, as if I were a show. 



202 LITTLE SHELLS. 

What 's the price of this piece ? — come, my call must be 

brief. 
Would you put me i?i chains when I ask you for beef? 
Look here ! I have money ! " and flinging right down 
A shilling, a dollar, a guinea, a crown. 
Till he sprinkled the meat-block with money all o'er. 
'* There 1 there ! do you see it — or must I show more ? " 
*' Beef 1 beef ! ? " said the butcher—" Oh ! beef sir you 'd 

have. 
Sir, I misunderstood 3^ou — what piece do you crave ; 
And where shall I send it, sir ? Thank you — what name ? " 
" Why I have been ' Tom Joxes ' — I suppose I 'm the same." 
" Ah — yes ! Mr. Jones. William, carry this meat 
Down to Mister Tom Jones'' upon Washington street." 
He was " Mister jfoiies " now. With a glance full of scorn 
Such as makes a man " wish " he " had never been born," 
He accosted the rumsellers : " Sirs ! do you see, 
I 've escaped from your mesh ? Yes 't is really me. 
Lo ! the time is at hand when your ' beef will be scarce, 
And your pockets be moneyless. This is no farce. 
God is heeding the cry of the suffering poor 



TOM JOXES." 203 



Who depend on the wretches who reel from your door ! 
May your wives and your children ne'er suffer for bread, 
When the price of your wickedness lies on your head ! 
Now forever good-bye ! — you 've a customer lost." 
And for shame they were mute as the threshold he crossed. 

We 've not named all his errands, nor wdiere they were 

done ; 
He has traveled on briskly while lasted the sun, 
And now twilight has found him enwrapped in her grey. 
He is chatting, and bargaining, and paying away. 

He has started for home ; but before him, to-night, 

Let us visit his cottage — yes, there is its light ! 

We '11 like good " Messmerees " make no noise by our call ; 

'T is the home of the poor, like the homes of them all. 

Here are neatness and order through poverty seen, 
And a something that tells of the days which have been; 
And poor Mary, who sews for the shops at the stand, 
Hath a face of rare beauty — a delicate hand. 



2 04 LITTLE SHELLS. 



Retrospection is busy ; how fixed is her gaze, 

As she whispers, " I love him — I 've loved him always ! " 

" Hark ! " she starts in surprise ; " some one knocks at the 

door." 
Here ^s a man with a cart and a barrel of flour. 
" You are wrong sir," she says, with a tear in her eye, 
" For we can 't buy wheat flour, the price is so high." 

" I 've the pay in my pocket — I 'm right," said he then. 
As he rolled in the barrel and started again. 

Knock again at the door — boy and basket come in, 
" Mr. Jones sent me here with these groceries for him." 
Then he cast down ten papers at least at her feet. 
And before she could answer, came boy with the meat 
" You 've mistaken the house, please to take them aw^ay, 
For my husband I 'm sure is not able to pay." 
" He has paid me already," each quickly replied, 
As he left her to wonder, and hurried outside. 



TOM JONESr 205 



Tap again at the door — girl with bandbox has come. 
" Is the lady of Squire J^ones, Madam, at home ? " 
" The lady ? " says Mary, and starts at the sound. 
" I am Mrs. Tom Jones." 

'' Ma'am I Ve brought you around 
The new bonnet he bought of us ; please madam try it — " 
" Are you sure it is paid for 1 " 

" I am — let me tie it — 
It is very becoming." 

" Ah ! yes, 't is I know — 
But contrasts very strangely with garments below — 
Such a bonnet as this looks too silly on me. 
It was made ior some X^idy, and mine cannot be !" 
(Sweet Mary she sighed, for O, how could she guess 
The right arm of her husband was bringing a dress.) 
But the girl would not take it — 't was left on her head, 
And she said, " If I 'm Mary Jones, reason has fled ! 
What a plight I am in with these bundles all here, 
And that barrel, those boxes, all mine it is clear. 
If by honesty earned, or benevolence given, 
They are blessings direct from my ' Father in Heaven. ' " 
10 



2o6 LITTLE SHELLS. 

" You are Mary Jones^ Mother^' said Pet Number OxME, 
As he burrowed in bundles ; " I 'm glad they are gone, 
For I smell in these papers both sugar and tea ; 
We shall have warm white bread of that flour, won't we ? " 
" Oh yes ! let 's have supper ! " said Pets Two and Three. 

At this moment Our Hero, too happy appeared, 
And the mist from her mental sight readily cleared. 
" Dear Thomas-! " " Dear Mary ! " 

Here, reader, between 
You and them falls the curtain, for here is a scene 
AVhich our pen cannot paint you. So, bidding all hail ! 
We shall leave with your fancy to finish the tale. 
But we pray you remember, and ponder one line, 
Where the moral all lies : " I will sign if you 'll sign." 



SPIBIT BAFFIXGSr 



207 



" SPIRIT RAPPINGS," AS EXPERIENCED BY AN 
OLD BACHELOR POET. 

I was writing a song for the papers one night, 

All alone with my cat in an attic, 
My cigar in full blast, and my feet left and right 

In a chair, for I 'm old and lymphatic ; 
And my hat on my head, for my hair's thin and white — 

It was cold, and I 'm somewhat rheumatic. 

I scribbled right on till my candle burned low, 

Not a mortal around me was stirring, 
Not a whisper was heard, but some snoring below, 

And my tabby's own musical purring ; 
While the wind through the rafters was drifting the snow 

Which my window-pane gently was blurring. 

My poem was finished — I sanded it o'er ^ 

xA.nd leaned back with a long inspiration, 



2o8 LITTLE SHELLS. 

Saying, " weary old bachelor, scribble no more, 
Take your crust and your evening libation ; " 

When I heard little ' rappings ' all over the floor. 
And I said : ' Is it fancy's creation ? ' 

Then I saw in that attic, unpleasantly near, 
A light cloud, like a mist, gathering slowly ; 

And I said, " can it be that the ' rappers ' are here 
To disturb one so peaceful and lowly ? " 

While I wished in my heart — though no mortal I fear- 
That my life had been somewhat more holy. 

And denser and denser that shadow grew fast, — 
And a chilly sensation crept o'er me — 

Intenser, intenser, till life-like at last 
It stood up on four feet right before me 

But a wee little mouse — so the danger was o'er. 
Though I saw 't was determined to bore me. 

Master ' Pussy,' awaking, sprang up as he saw 
What he thought a good supper to eat it ; 



SPIBIT BAPFINGS:' 209 



But his foot passed right through it ; his velvety paw 
Clutched again, then he did not repeat it, 

But drew back quite ashamed of that impotent claw, 
For no cat's in aforetime had beat it. 

Now that little brown mouse op'es its wee lips to speak, 
Saying : " Master I crave your attention ! 

I 'm a spirit, unhappy, that sympathy seek ; 
I entreat your profound condescension ! " 

Now it bows to me thrice, now is passive and meek, 
And I answer, " your griefs you may mention." 

" But if you 're a she spirit, get back by the wall, 

For I do n't allow feminines ever — 
Though they hail from the shadow-land — near me at all, 

I 'm afraid of their mischief forever. 
If one passes my threshold and gives me a call, 

I get o'er the effect of it, never. 

" I was once a mouse girl. I was born in this garret, 
My birthplace a package of wool ; 



2IO LITTLE SHELLS, 

My father and mother — I 'm proud to declare it — 

Oft said I was beautiful ; 
Yet my vanity needed not any should swear it, 

For I was not a particle dull. 

" I could see my ovv-n ankles, elastic and slender, 

And my fur was as soft as a mole's — 
I knew my own eyes were as brilliant and tender 

As were any that peeped from mouse-holes ; 
For I saw my own image ofttimes in the fender. 

When the boarder was gone from his coals. 

" I attended mouse-school, where a mouse of position, 

A most dignified widow presided ; 
But I thought her a fool, whose profound erudition 

Made her petulant, thin and flab-sided ; 
And concluded no woman improved her condition 

By such loi*e as some mouse-men derided. 

" I sat over the scraps from ' our boarders ' epistles. 
And the bits from his books she 'd abstracted. 



''SPIBIT BAPPING^S.'' 211 

With my heart in the meadow of roses and thistles 

Which my fancy had always attracted ; 
But, I tell you I paid very ' dear for ' my ' whistles/ 

AVhen she caught my attention distracted. 

'' From a box in this attic, I frequently toted 

A few leaves of antiquity's novels ; 
On the hair-breadth escapes of rash lovers I doated, 

' Seraphina's,' ' Malvina's ' and ' Lovels ; ' 
Upon ' underground passages ' fondly I gloated, 

Leading out to perfection in hovels. 

" "When I grew up to womanhood, graceful and witty, 

I was selfish as well as romantic ; 
All the mouse-men around called me ' artless as pretty,' 

' Not a particle proud or pedantic ; ' 
While I played the coquette — pray, sir, don 't look so gritty 

You 've worse humans both sides the Atlantic. 

" Among all my lovers, one mouse-man came nearest 
My thought of a mouse's perfection — 



2 12 LITTLE SHELLS. 

He was handsome, a scholar, his head was the clearest, 

His voice had the sweetest inflection 
When he said, ' will you wed me, my darling, my dearest ? ' 

I said ' I '11 take time for reflection,' 

" I ' took time,' but I never reflected, not I ; 

'T was no part of my programm.e to think, sir, 
And I flirted right on, like a gay butterfly, 

With the mouse-men that came at my wink, sir. 
Oh, I liked to be flattered and told, with a sigh, 

I was ' sweet as a blossoming pink,' sir. 

*' When my lover grew restless, I called him ' capricious,' 
And he called me a heartless coquette, sir ; 

I replied — for to teaze him was very delicious — 
* I have twenty more fools in my net, sir. 

Then he bade me ' good bye ; ' said ' you 're lovely, but 
vicious,' 
And was gone, to my lasting regret, sir. 

" Ne'ertheless, * o'er spilled milk it is folly to weep,' 
So I married my wealthiest lover, 



''SFIFJT EAPPINGSr 213 j 

A grave middle aged rat, with a beautiful heap, j 

As 't was ever my lot to discover, ' 

Of provisions, and all things v^^hich rat nabobs keep ■ 

In their store-rooms, but prudently cover. j 

i 

" He was called ' Squire Rat,' and v/as highly respected '■ 

By all rat-men and mouse-men around us ; ' 

He was kind to me always, and no one suspected ] 

'T was a tie of convenience that bound us ; ! 

But I wearied of him, growing daily dejected, \ 

And the spirit of jealousy found us. \ 

" Then the tattlers began in his warped ear to tattle, ■ 

Of a score of ' flirtations ' now ended ; ' 

And he gave ' curtain lectures ' — I tired of their rattle 
And the airs he put on when offended. 

So I told him — lo ! out of it issued a battle, | 

Which to breaking the marriage bond tended. j 

" He arose from his breakfast one morning, and said : 

* Mrs. Rat I now leave you forever ; 1 



214 



LITTLE SHELLS, 



I can 't bear any longer such life as I 've led, 

And consider it prudent to sever. 
Lo ! the homestead is yours, and the board and the bed 

I shall claim nevermore, madam, never ! ' 

" He backed out of the hole, all his prudence withdrawn, 

When I heard the quick jump of a tabby 
AVhich had watched round our premises evening and dawn. 

Oh ! that shriek ! — 't was a murder most shabby ! 
There 's the rougue 'neath your chair, looking guiltily down, 

No wonder he 's careworn and flabby." 

" Tabby " ventured no sign, but crept closer to me, 

As if craving protection in trouble. 
*' You vile murderer ! " she said ; but no answer made he, 

For his conscience weighed more than a bubble ; 
" It was cruel to him, and a pity you see. 

Since I never again was made double. 

" Tabby missed of his feast — a poor rat passing by — 
He attempted to throttle and catch him ; 



''SPIBIT liAPFINGSr 215 ; 

J 
Now, I thought, is my time, with my strength I will try j 

That poor corjDse ! through the door-way to fetch him. 
So I stole him away while that battle ran high. 

O, ye stars ! I did pull him and stretch him ! 

" We had a fine funeral ; the service was read 

From the leaf of a prayer book, abstracted 

From the stand of ' the boarder,' that stood by his bed. 

I 
And I wept till some thought me distracted ; j 

Then away from the grave I was tenderly led \ 

By our parson, so well I had acted. 



" I mourned a whole week, refused comforts and calls- 
Quite a pattern of widowhood seeming, 

Sat alone all day long in my desolate halls — 
None imagined of what I was dreaming. 

Till my shadow one morning crept over the walls, 
As the sun through the door-way was streaming. 

" I tripped over the meadow, as fleet as a fawn, 
In pursuit of my long absent lover, 



2i6 LITTLE SHELLS. 

Thinking now that the Squire was certainly gone, 

I would die, or my mouse-man discover. 
So I journeyed all day, and all night, and at dawn 

There he sat 'neath a blossom of clover. 

" ■ Your obedient,' I said. ' Ah ! my dear Mrs. Rat ; 

Are you traveling for health or for pleasure ? ' 
He replied most respectfully, lifting his hat ; 

' Pray walk into my house, if you 've leisure.' 
Ah ! my poor weary heart ! how it went pit-a-pat 

At the thought of recovering my treasure. 

" But I followed him in to my grief and despair, 
For he said, ' Mrs. Rat, Mrs. Mouse, ma'am,' 

As a lady arose, very stately and fair. 

Saying, ' pray be at home in our house, ma'am.' 

Cataleptic I stood, gazing long on the pair, 
Then fell dead in the arms of the mouse-man. 

" Looking back from the land where the mouse-spirits dwell, 
I saw mourning for me among mice, sir ; 



*' SPIRIT BAPPINGS. ' ' 

Mr. Mouse wrote at once to ray friends how I fell, 
Then he buried me snugly and nice, sir. 

But he shed not a tear, and I knew very well 
What had turned all his love into ice, sir. 



" Get you back to the ghost-land of mice, perjured bride ! 

I am tired of your feminine tattle " 
" I won't go, Mr. Bachelor ! " pertly she cried. 

And I knew she was seeking a battle. 
" You have humans as false, and as bitterly tried, 

Till the sands on their coffin lids rattle." 

She tripped over the floor, coming close to my seat — 
" Down ! avaunt ! get you gone ! " I entreated. 

But she sprang to my shoulder — slipped dovv^n to my feet, 
And anon on my hat crown was seated. 

All my masculine wisdom was lost in defeat — 
Was e'er feminine v/isdom defeated ? 

How I wished for a monk to exorcise her down 
With good Hebrew and Latin instanter ; 



217 i 

J 



2i8 LITTLE SHELLS, 

But no monk was at hand, in his surplice and gown, 

And my courage decreased on a canter. 
There was " Uncle Tom's Cabin" might " do it up brown," 

But I 'd lent it to Peter O'Shanter. 



There was " Robinson Crusoe," " A Dream Book," " A 
Guide 
To All Countries by Land and by Sea ; 
There was "John Helper's Crisis," "The Bandit's Fair 
Bride "■— 
I read extracts from all like a bee. 
Then a work on " Dyspepsia " and " Magic " I tried, 
But she clung all the closer to me. 

I ransacked that library, moist with despair, 
And its shelves were all heavily lumbered ; 

Saying : " Is there no volume so potent and rare. 
Of the mass with which these are encumbered, 

As to banish this demon again to her lair ? 

If there 's none, my last moments are numbered." 



''SFIPdT mappings:' 219 

Then I took up those " Stanzas " last written, and read 

Them aloud in my wild desperation ; 
" What is that ? " says Tormentor ; " a poem," I said. 

" That ! that ! it is nonsense ! vexation ! 
Stop ! hush ! I can 't bear it ! it murders my head ! " 

I replied, " you provoked the occasion." 

Ere I reached the last " Stanza " I 'd writ for the papers, 
With a shriek she dissolved, (without Latin). 

And I thought if all '• rappers " that come to cut capers 
With old bachelors, perching their hat on, 

Could but hear their " last lines," in the light of their tapers, 
They would melt from, the beavers they sat on. 



2 20 LITTLE SHELLS. 



DOCTOR GRAY'S LECTURE ON PHRENOLOGY. 

To a country town, not far away, 

When the stage arrived, came Doctor Gray — 

Quite a handsome man in a suit of black — 

So of course a " doctor " and not " a quack." 

But no one questioned, and no one cared 

How "the Doctor" looked, nor how he fared, 

Till the bills were up at the hour of Three, 

Which " A Lecture " announced " On Phrenology." 

At early Six the w^orld is there ; 

The fire blazes, the candles flare. 

And " Doctor Gray," unabashed and free, 

Harangues the crowd on " Phrenology." 

" There are ' heads,' he said, " of a wondrous size, 

And such are the ' heads ' which are wondrous wise ; 

There are ' heads ' of the medium size v/e know, 

Which must move in the common sphere below ; 



LECTVIiE OX PimENOLOGY. 221 

And some ' heads ' there are, in this world of ours, 

Of diminutive size and contracted powers. 

As 'heads ' differ in size, so they difter in shape, 

And man differs from man, as does Man from the Ape." 

Then he turned to the portraits of Webster and Clay, 
And Calhoun, Polk, and Jacksox, hung up in array. 
" Mark the difference twixt those God created to rule, 
And the low shallow pate of this cast of a fool." 
Then the boys clapped their hands, and the boy-headed men 
Rang the walls with their laughter, again and again. 
" All the fools are like fops," he said, low with a wink, 
" Having self-esteem larger than organs that think ; 
And one organ unbalanced, hangs backward you see, 
Like a nest full of wasps on the limb of a tree." 

Then he spoke upon Sexes ; and straightway made out 
That the males dress in jackets, the females without. 
That the males go to battles, elections and races. 
And the females tend babies at home, in their places. 
And along he proceeded through all that he knew, 
And much more that he hiezv 7iot, before he got through. 



222 LITTLE SHELLS. 

And the audience, grown weary, began to be showing 
They were sorry they came, and meant soon to be going. 
For he bkmdered, and wandered so far from his text 
That they wondered what subject he 'd stumble o'er next ; 
And remarked, as they viewed him 'mong portraits and 

skulls. 
That some lectured on brains, who were consummate gulls. 
But, before very desperate they ran to their beds, 
He proceeded to say, " We '11 examine some heads." 

Then the com_pany seemed in a little commotion 
As they chose a few " Heads " from humanity's ocean ; 
And the persons selected went forth for inspection. 
Like a bevy of rogues in the way of detection. 

There were twelve in the number — one preacher, one lawyer, 

One judge, and one poet, one common wood-sawyer, 

One butcher, one fiddler, one mathematician. 

One " Mrs. McMurphy " — not born a patrician — 

A w^oman of letters, " Miss Deborah Hearty," 

A sweet little linguist, " Miss Flora Mc Carty," 

And my own 7nodest self- — now excused from the party. 



LECTUBE ON PHIiENOLOGY. 

A moment of silence succeeded the hum, 

The children, admonished, sat perfectly mum. 

Then, up-raising his eye-brows and straining his eyes, 

Till he looked like a screech-owl — he talked in this wise. 

" Here 's a man," said he, touching the reverend brovv^ 
Of the pious old Mixister, " I must put low. 
On ' reflection,' ' perception,' and ' morals ' you see. 
For his forehead slopes back like the curve of a D. 
His ' benevolence ' and ' reverence ' I find very small ; 
I much doubt if this gentleman worships at all. 
But I find his ' constructiveness ' pretty good size, 
And both ' color ' and ' form,' which are over the eyes. 
He might plan him a cottage, and build it, and paint it, 
Though I fear he with purple or yellow might taint it." 
Then he listened for laughter — no laughter was there — 
And he said, " I am done with him," smoothing his hair. 
When his reverence remarked, with a smile on his face, 
" After forty years' preaching, behold ! my disgrace." 

Then he turned to the lawyer. " This man hath a brain 
Of unusual dimensions — I hope he 's not vain — 



223 



224 



LITTLE SHELLS. 



And this man I infer is a man of some wit, 
If this man be a lawyer " — " He 's hit him, he 's hit ! " 
Said the boys, while " the doctor," not seeming to hear, 
Went ahead with a spring like the bound of a deer. 

" I say, ladies and gentlemen, though I don't know, 

If a lawyer, I pity his litigant foe ; 

On the ' moral ' and ' social ' I find him not large ; 

May be kind to a lady, if left in his charge ; 

He is bold and satirical, cautious and sly ; 

He 's an orator — look at that prominent eye ! 

He is one who looks out for his client and dinhes ; 

He takes care of himself — 'tis a trick of the times." 

" Very good ! " said the audience — who did ii't say ^''fudgeJ^ 

Then he laid his white hand on the brow of the judge. 

" This good man has a ' head,' which 't is plain to you all. 
Is of medium size, and an intellect small ; 
His ' perception,' ' reflection,' and ' morals ' range low. 
And his ' temperament ' is ' sanguine ' and ' bilious ' you 
know. 



LECTVIIE ON PHRENOLOGY. 225 



If a journeyman tailor, or grocery clerk, 
I should think he might be very brisk at his work." 
Then he listened again, and a murmur was heard 
From indignant observers — " absurd ! — how absurd ! " 
For " the judge " was considered the wisest of men — 
They revered him before, and they reverenced him then. 
And the doctor discomfited — rather than show it — 
Hurried on to examine the head of — our Poet. 

" This young man," said he, looking him full in the face, 

Has an intellect large, as I readily trace." 

And his fingers went off at a galloping rate 

O'er the hights and the hollows of Poetry's pate. 

*' ' Calculation ' tremendous — ' causality large,' 

And a ' memory ' that holds all he puts in his charge ; 

Low on ' Time ' and on ' Tune ' — he is not a musician — 

I should think this young man is a mathematician ; 

I will venture to say that this man may live long, 

And make many a figure, but never a song." 

There was laughter aloud — he supposed at his wit — 

But they laughed that " the shoe was so far from a fit." 



226 LITTLE SHELLS, 

Then he passed to the wood-sawyer. Here let us say 
That " Bill Cutter " was dressed like a beau in a play ; 
And his "head" was a Webster's, if judged by its size, 
And his face was a fine one, with shiny black eyes ; 
While the hands in the kids told no tale of the saw — 
Hence the doctor proceeds his conclusions to drav/. 

" I should think that this man might be known in the town 

As a person of talent — this man is no clown. 

He 's a writer perhaps — yes, a poet, I see : 

' Ideality's large,' and the ' marvellous ' has he. 

And of 'Time,' 'Tune,' and 'Language,' a wonderous degree. 

Yes, here is a scholar, who oft as he chooses, 

Can write tales of romance, or converse with the Muses." 

" Look here Mr. Doctor ! " indignant, said Bill, 
" If you call names in Latin, I '11 flog you, I will ! 
I'm a sawyer of wood, and I earn my own clothes, 
But take care what you call me — or look to your nose ! " 
And amid the wild laughter, provoked by his speech. 
Master Bill, homeward bound, ran away out of reach. 



LECTUBE ON PHEENOLOGY. 227 



Next in turn came the butcher. He made him out simple 
As a sweet little girl with a smile and a dimple ; 
Or the sensitive lady who weeps oe'r the "pullet" 
She has ordered for dinner, deploring the '" bullet." 

Then he tried the musician, and left " him no Tune ; " 
And " no time " and no brains, like a pitiful loon ; 
Though all knew he had intellect, brilliant and rare, 
'Neath that glossy profusion of chestnut-brown hair. 

Now the Mathematiciax was called to his doom — 

And again those sage fingers swept on like a broom. 

" This is one of those persons we meet every day 

In life's commoner walks ; never born for display ; 

With no talent which precedence takes of the rest — 

This man likes that his dinners should be of the best ; 

And will pass through the world like the mass of mankind, 

Undistinguished for anything — medium mind. 

He has musical genius — good man," said he winking, 

"Give him plenty of money, he'll hire his thinking.'''* 



2 28 LITTLE SHELLS. 

And with this he dismissed Mr. Charley Division, 
And the walls echoed then with the laugh of derision. 
And he laughed with the rest, thinking wit and good gues- 
sing, 
To a lecturer on brains, were a help and a blessing. 

Next was Mrs. McMurphy, unlettered and bold, 
He pronounced her " a lady of delicate mould ; " 
Bade her " cultivate flowers ; take care of her health 
Lest her mind should out-weary her body by stealth." 
And her bluish white eyes gave a satisfied stare 
As she yawned, like a clam — then she slept in her chair. 

Next examined — " Miss Hearty," an author and belle. 
He allowed her " scarce talent " to " cypher " and spell ; 
Just enough to tend babies and worship her spouse, 
And look after the servants and webs in her house. 
" My true character ! " answered the roguish Miss Hearty, 
Then he passed to the linguist, sweet *' Flora McCarthy." 

" Hem ! ahem ! ! " said the doctor ; " the less that is said 
Very often 's the better. A nice little head, 



LECTUBE ON PHEENOLOGY. 229 



And its owner a peaceable gay little girl, 

Who thinks less of a book than a feather or curl ; 

And is oftener seen at a ball or a play 

Than at lectures on science — what more need I say. 

May I hope the kind audience is satisfied now ? " 

And the rush for the door left no room for his bow. 

We scattered like pigeons, and flew to our nests. 

To have nightmare and skeleton skulls on our breasts. 



230 



LITTLE SHELLS. 



RETRIBUTION. 

Fast toiling up a sloping mound 

On which a mansion towered, 
A woman in a muslin robe 

Before a tempest cowered. 

She stopped before a massive door 

Of neatly carved device, 
And there she knocked, and knocked again, 

And then repeated thrice. 

The servants knew her sad, pale face, 

But dared not bid her in, 
Though pained to see her look so poor ; 

Who had their favorite been. 

" I will go in ! " she said ; "he can 
But hurl me to the street ; 



BETBIBUTION. 

He can but spurn his suffering child, 
And drive her from his feet. 

O father ! round my darling's form 
Death twines his chilly arms ; 

Forgive him, that he loved me, now 
No life his bosom warms. 

Grant me a trifle of thy wealth 

To aid his funeral rite, 
And Heaven will increase thv store, 



231 



And bless thee for the mite. 

" Oh ! in that day when all shall meet. 
And at one bar appear, 
Can Mercy spread her shielding wing 
O'er one that mocks jier here ? " 

And still she wept, and still her sire 
Looked on in cold disdain, 



232 



LITTLE SHELLS, 



And bade her " go ! nor seek his face, 
Nor shade his door again ! " 



" I go," she said ; " no daughter's curse 
Shall linger from my tongue. 
May such a weight as crushes mine 
Ne'er on thy soul be hung ! " 

She went, and asked of strangers then 
Her starving children's bread ; 

And christian strangers bought a shroud 
And coffin for her dead. 

That heavy sand — that heavy sand 

Upon the coffin lid ! 
It seemed to strike her bosom, too, 

And tear it asjt slid. 

But duller, heavier grew the sound 
Of rattling earth and spade, 



METBIBVTION. 

Till, beating down the new brown grave, 
The kindly work was stayed. 

Then, sadly toward her desolate home 

She led those babes away, 
As, sinking neath the western hills, 

Went down the Orb of Day. 



233 



There was a form that lingered yet 
That breaking mass behind ; 

A stranger he, whose dress and air 
Bespoke the man of mind. 

A few white hairs his temples wore, 

Inwoven with the brovvn, 
And sorrow on his cheek had traced 

Her lines too plainly down. 

Yet kindness lingered on his lip, 
And mercy in his eye, 



234 



LITTLE SHELLS. 

For Heaven had penciled beauty there 
In lines that could not die. 

Closely he followed now the steps 
Of that fair group oT three, 

Answering their first inquiring glance 
With : " Mourners, fear not me ! 

" I am a helper, sent to ye 
From every widow's God ; 
His falling mantle clings to me. 
Who lies 'neath yonder sod. 

" Come to my heart, poor, stricken one ! 
Child of my early love ; 
A father I will be to thee, 
Or loose my crown above ! 

" O Imogene ! thy mother sleeps 
Beyond tyrannic power ; 



BETIilBUTIOy. 235 



Breathed she one name unknown to thee, 
In any thoughtless hour ? 

" Child ! did her bark glide smoothly on, 
Unrocked by sorrow's tide, 
Until her life-sun calmly set 
Behind the hills of pride ? 

" Gave she to him who held her hand 
An undivided heart ? 
Or did one Image haunt her soul, 
Refusing to depart ? 

" My daughter ! there is no remorse 
To feed thy sorrow's bowl ; 
Thou didst not send thy lover forth 
With arrows in his soul." 

" Ah ! mine is but a selfish grief ! " 
She wiped her tears and said ; 



236 



LITTLE SHELLS. 

" I will devote my life to thee ; 
With God I leave my dead. 

" There was a name my mother called 
AVhen struggling hard with Death ; 
AVith that dear name upon her lips. 
She yielded up her breath. 

" Edwin ! " she said, " I love thee yet ! 
God keep thee through the world, 
While tyrants o'er the human heart 
Shall to the dust be hurled." 

They say she raved — her broken words 

I gave to memory ; 
And lo ! this hour reveals to me 

Their all of mystery. 

Sweet Imogene and her's no more 
Were in that valley seen ; 



liETPJBUriON. 

And winter came, and spring returned 
With all its bloom and green ; 

And summer passed ; and years rolled on ; 

Yet still her sire was here ; 
His goods increasing with his years, 

And every blessing near. 

His locks but slowly bleached to gray ; 

No wrinkles marred his cheek ; 
The fool forgot that God is great, 

And man, the creature, weak. 

But Justice doth not always sleep, 
Though sometimes long delayed. 

Around the Sinner's hopes, at last, 
Flashed the avenging blade. 

A blight destroyed his waving fields ; 
His cattle strangely fell ; 



237 



238 



LITTLE SHELLS. 

Men would no longer work for hire, 
Where lay a curse's spell. 

Alone, beneath his stately roof. 

He lived, an outcast now ; 
While lightning burned his spacious barns 

Wind laid his fences low. 

The borrower returned him not 

The money he had lent ; 
And bankaipt houses failed to pay 

The wonted yearly rent. 

No eye of pity wept for him, 
• None marveled at his fate ; 
All said, " the flaming swoi d of Wrath 
Swept over him too late." 

How could he breathe amid the scorn 
Of those despised so long ? 



BETJRIBVTION. 

Or he, who ne'er forgave a fault, 
Bow to confess a wrong. 

The pride that ruled his better days 

Yet clung to his despair, 
And sent him forth to distant lands — 

None asked the question, " where ? " 



239 



Upon a city's pavement lay 
A shadow broad and tall, 

Which from a princely mansion fell- 
A princely student's hall. 

A lady at the window stood 
To view a passing show ; 

When lo ! upon her marble steps 
She saw a form of woe ! 

A beggar ! weary, worn and old, 
With deeply sunken eye ; 



240 LITTLE SHELLS. 

And strangely did her bosom heave, 
To hear his plaintive cry. 

Her every pulse was charity ; 

Her feet obeyed her heart ; 
When to the door she quickly sped, 

To act the Christian's part. 

" Come in ! come in ! " she sweetly said, 

" And tell to me thy grief; 
Come, I will bathe thy aching head, 

And give thee sweet relief. 

" Come ! let me smooth those hoary locks, 

And wipe away thy tears ; 
I '11 strive to make thy soul forget 

The wrongs and ills of years. 

" Say, are they dead who loved thee long. 
Or far estranged from thee ? 



HETIUBUTION. 241 

Come in ! thou aged pilgrim, come 
And tell thy tale to me ! 

*' Come ! God hath given me of wealth 

Abundance, and to spare ; 
Mine shall be thine — stay — all thy days 
In all my blessings share." 

Why did his feet refuse to cross 

The threshold of her home, 
Though' she had taken his cold hand — . 

And still she bade him, " come ! " 

His eyes were fixed upon her form — 

He quailed beneath her look ; 
And every stiff and weary limb 

With deep emotion shook. 

Well might he shrink ; before him stood 

The child he spurned in pride ; 
" Forgive me, Imogene ! " he gasped, 

And on her threshold died. 



242 



LITTLE SHELLS. 



THE THREE BRIDES. 



[The plot of this poem was suggested by the short prose story of F. L. Durivage, 
with the same title.] 



An old man stood a grave beside 

And leaned upon his spade, 
Another child of dust and pride 

Beneath the turf was laid -, 
Soft zephyrs played amid his hair — 

Upraised it from his brow, 
Or left his hollow temples bare, 

Then veiled them with the snow. 

His eye was dark ; it told of dreams, 
Of deep unuttered thought ; 

It lighted up with fitful beams. 
As from a heart o'er wrought ; 

It cast a mournful glance around, 
It lingered on the wall, 



THE THBEE BllIDES. 

It rested on that new-made mound 
Crossed bv his shadow tall. 



"Father," I said, "thy cheeks are white, 

Thy lips are thin and pale, 
Thy locks are as the dews of night, 

Or as the glittering hail ; 
Thy brow is seamed with marks of care, 

Thy stately form is bent ; 
Forgive me, if I ask thee where 

And how thy years were spent ? " 

A searching look he turned on me, 

And answered : " Grief is old ; 
My counted years are forty-three. 

When all my years are told. 
Boy, wouldst thou see the blackened trace 

Of God's avenging doom ? 
Come where he hid his mercy's face 

And sealed a soul to gloom." 



243 



244 



LITTLE SHELLS. 

Then turning from that grave so new, 

With quick, impulsive tread, 
He passed the arching gateway through. 

Whose walls enclosed the dead. 
I followed as he rushed along — 

That bent and white-haired man — 
As if his limbs again were strong, 

And youth returned again. 

Past meadow, marsh, and streamlet clear, 

And waving grain we sped ; 
The village lessened in our rear. 

The mountains rose ahead ; 
Yet, beckoning still, he hurried on, 

His lips in silence bound. 
Till, centered in a velvet lawn, 

A silent home we found. 



He pointed to its towering walls 
Against the cloudless sky, 



THE THREE BRIDES. 

And said, " no sound disturbs its halls 

Besides the cricket's cry." 
The wind its shrunken shutters flapped, 

The doors were loose and wide. 
The shingles on the rafters tapped, 

And moss o'erspread its side. 

" Come in," he said, and through my blood 

A chill sensation crept, 
When on its floor the old man stood, 

And I beside him stept. 
For oh ! the scene that met my gaze 

Was fearful, sad, and strange ; 
It told a tale of other days, 

Some dark, mysterious change. 

Rich drapery, from the ceiling hung, 

Had faded all to gray ; 
A harp, neglected and unstrung, 

Dust-wrapped and voiceless lay ; 



245 



246 LITTLE SHELLS. 

The woolen fabric 'neath our feet 
The moth had ha'lf consumed ; 

Across the damask table-sheet 
The spider's web was loomed. 



And many a noble volume there 

The mouse had made her jest, 
And works of art, the rich and rare, 

The mould of time had dressed ; 
The damp had silver vessels dimmed, 

The brass were black with rust. 
The lamps burned out, and ne'er retrimmed, 

Were pyramids of dust. 

" Why is it thus, my guide ? " I said, 

*' Here desolation reigns ; 
Can'st thou remove this mystic dread 

That creeps throughout my veins ? 
Tell now to me the gloomy tale 

Of this abandoned home, 



THE THBEE BEIDES. 247 

Before the setting sun-beams pale 
On yonder temple's dome." 



" Sit down," he said, " sit down, I pray 

I fain would tell thee all ; * 
Here glide no ghosts, as cowards say, 

When night's deep shadows fall. 
I would we heard one gentle sigh, 

One low, familiar tone, 
Or felt the unseen passer-by, 

Loved and forever gone. 

" I would there were white wings around, 

Which only I could see, 
That voices of unearthly sound 

Would sing for only me. 
But now I turn for thee the leaf 

Which ne'er was turned for man — 
Forgive this timeless burst of grief." 

And lo ! the tale began. 



248 LITTLE SHELLS. 

"Tired of the world, its empty joys, 

Its fashions and its cares, 
A student left its glare and noise. 

Unfettered by its snares. 
He reared these walls, content to hide 

In nature's shades to rest, 
With one fair child, his hope and pride, 

A frail, dependent guest. 

" Here, to his home he luxuries brought 

For this his only son ; 
Though for himself nor craved nor sought- 

They pleased his precious one. 
Who wore his sainted mother's smile, 

And shook her clustering hair ; 
Sighing, he smoothed his locks the while, 

And blessed her imag:e there. 



Thou art my only tie to life,' 
He kissed him oft, and said, 



THE THREE BlilDES. 

* Dear semblance of my gentle wife, 
My beautiful, my dead ! 

For her sweet sake I cling to thee. 
Cling thou to her above ; 

Ne'er let that angel mother see 
Her child beneath her love.' 



"On swept the years ; that gentle boy 

To manhood swiftly grew ; 
His hopes were shared, his every joy 

That faithful father knew. 
The varied works of ancient lore 

He to the child made plain. 
O'er all the heights he'd climbed before 

He led his charge again. 

" Death claimed his own ; the good man died ; 
The son could only weep. 
And lay him by his mother's side, 
To share her peaceful sleep. 



249 



250 



LITTLE SHELLS. 

But oh ! the aching loneHness 

' That o'er his spirit stole, 
AVhen none was left with love to bless 
His young and yearning soul. 

" Yet grief its first keen edge must lose- 

We cannot always mourn — 
The rod foregoes its power to bruise, 

When long its stripes we 've borne. 
Ambition called, he sought a name — 

To write a name unknown 
Upon the highest towers of fame. 

And grave it on her throne. 



*' He wooed the muses ; for the fire 

Of poesy he felt, 
And seldom with the m3'stic lyre 

Such harmony had dwelt. 
In far-off" lands his name was heard — 

There many a household band, 



THE THJREE BlilDES. 

Aroused to deeds of love deferred, 
Blessed his inspiring hand. 

" Men said, ' Behold ! the youthful sage 

Is prince of modern bards ; 
He pens for us the fairest page 

The present age records ! ' 
The smiling lip, the laughing eye, 

Of beauty seemed to say 
She must be blessed, who by-and-by 

Shall steal his heart away. 

" Where yon tall cedar proudly towers 

Against the arching blue, 
Three sisters spent those guileless hours 

When life and love were new ; 
All graceful as the angel forms 

That come to us at night, 
And hold us in their peaceful arms 

Till breaks the morning light. 



251 



252 



LITTLE SHELLS. 

" Helena was the youngest child, 

The rose-bud of the three ; 
Her statelier sisters paused and smiled 

To hear her bursts of glee — 
As bounding like the sportive fawn 

She crossed the native heath, 
Or wove for each a flowery crown, 

Their loftier brows to wreath. 



" Her heart the poet won, she gave 
To him her priceless hand ; 

* My own ! ' he said, ' to shield and save 

From error's rock-browed strand.' 

* My own ! ' how wildly leaps the heart 

When first we say ' my own ' — 
With quivering lips and tears astart — 
' My own — my blessed one 1 * 

" Imploring Heaven the bond to bless, 
The father gave the bride ; 



THE TIIBEE BBIDES. 253 

The mother gave the parting kiss 

With less of grief than pride ; 
The sisters then their darling clasped, 

With blessings on her head, 
And all was o'er — the pageant passed — 

Away the bride was led. 



" Helena ! how the flowers up sprung, 

And choked the weeds of care ; 
The poet, listening to thy song, 

Forgot his harp was there ; 
The garden gathered new perfume 

Beneath thy fostering smile ; 
From path to path, from bloom to bloom. 

Enchantment reigned the while. 

" But joy possessed is half decayed ; 
We grasp it — it is gone ! 
Death, with his ruthless sickle, laid 

That flower of virtue down. 
12 



254 



LITTLE SHELLS. 

He loosed her from reluctant arms, 
That sweet confiding vine, 

Content to wreath her artless charms 
Around his household shrine. 



" Yet time assuaged his bitter grief — 

The heart is prone to change ; 
To make my truthful story brief — 

Though seeming wondrous strange- 
He sought the second sister's heart, 

He claimed a second bride ; 
Death, envious, sent another dart, 

And swept her from his side. 

" Edwina ! she was pale and meek, 
Pure as an angel's sigh, 
White lilies rested on her cheek, 

And kindness in her eye. 
She listened to the lightest call 
From pleading misery ; 



THE THREE BRIDES. 

From wealth to want, beloved of all, 
All mourned her destiny. 

" Why go our whitest lambs so soon 

From out affection's fold, 
While spotted Vice enjoys her June, 

Her Autumn, and grows old ? 
But time again brings healing balm — 

A slow, imperfect cure — 
The stricken man is peaceful, calm, 

And Stronger to endure. 

" Lo ! queenly Caroline is there, 

The eldest sister lives ; 
Tall, graceful, and supremely fair, 

She wins him as she grieves. 
He drinks her eyes' bewitching light. 

And mind replies to mind, 
She claims him with imperial right, 

To captivate and bind. 



255 



256 LITTLE SHELLS. 

*' With brilliant lamps the chapel gleamed, 

Its pillars wreathed with green, 
The lustre all around her streamed 

Who stood a bridal queen. 
White roses twined the locks among. 

Which waved around her brow, 
And o'er her matchless shoulders hung, 

Contrasting with their snow. 



The organ pealed with solemn sound 

A prayer — a reverent pause — 
The bride was given — then all around 

Was low, suppressed applause. 
The bridegroom spoke the vows with pride 

He purposed to fulfill ; 
Then sweetly said that lovely bride, 

In low response, ' I will.' 



" But scarce from off her lips the sound 
Had calmly died away, 



. THE THIiEE BRIBES. 257 

When terror seized the circle round, 

And trembling and dismay. 
There came a flash, a bright red flash, 

A loud, unearthly wail, 
The pillars shook amidst the crash 

Of thunder, wind and hail. 



" The fair ones shrieked ; the bride alone 

Was equal to the hour. 
She made response in louder tone, 

Nor feared that tempest's power. 
No quiver of her lip betrayed 

One shrinking pang within — 
He thought her calm and undismayed 

Because so free from sin. 



The rite was o'er — the moonbeams fell 
On glittering bower and bush ; 

The guests dispersed, the tale to tell 
Amid the household hush. 



258 LITTLE SHELLS. 

Again the bridegroom to these walls 
A worshiped mistress led ; 

Yea, brought her to these fretted halls, 
Now sacred to the dead. 



" But lo ! a second cloud doth rise ; 
It shrouds the moon and stars ; 
The lightning o'er its surface flies — 
The earth with thunder jars. 
* Hide thee,' he cries, ' my love, my bride ! 
Within our sheltering home ; 
Hide thee ! its portals open wide — 
Hide from the outward gloom.' 



They yet upon the threshold stood ; 

* Go in ! ' he cried in vain ; 
The hail, the thunder, and the flood 

Swept over hill and plain ; 
A flash of fiercer, redder dye 

Lit up the darkened air. 



THE THMEE BRIDES. 259 

It lingered in her large, full eye, 
And burned amid her hair. 



" ' I may not cross thy threshold now,' 

In husky whispers came ; 
' Thou seest upon my burning brow 
God's own avenging flame. 
My tongue is parched, my eyes are dim, 

My veins are all aglow ; 
And lo ! I pass away to Him, 
Consuming as I go. 

« 
" ' 'T was I that drugged with poison deep 
Each trusting sister's bowl ; 
Then mourned with thee her timeless sleep- 
Lost and degraded soul ! 
But oh ! 't was love — 't was love for thee, 

Concealed within my breast — 
That nerved my arm for infamy — 
A demon of unrest. 



26o LITTLE SHELLS. 

" ' 'T was love, the unreturned and true, 

That drove me to despair, . 
And maddened — lost — a fiend ! I slew 

The lambs that claimed my care. 
Helena ! with what earnest love 

My bending neck she clasped ! 
Edwina ! pure, confiding dove, 

Dying, my fingers grasped.' 

" He could not curse, he dared not bless 

His lost and guilty bride, 
There, shorn of all her loveliness, 

Still clinging to his side. 
He gently loosed her pleading hands, 

And whispered : God is just ; 
But Jesus feels and understands 

The sorrows born of dust. 

" A costly tomb received her form, 
And wandering Rumor said. 



THE THBEE BRIDES. 261 

She perished in the fearful storm 

That beat upon her head. 
They said she perished Hke a flower 

Crushed by the water's weight — 
Soared Heaven-ward 'mid that fearful shower, 

And left a cheerless mate. 

" He turned away — yet naught revealed — 

To hope and smile no more ; 
With forehead bowed and bosom sealed 

His lonely lot he bore. 
What now to him was w^ealth, or fame, 

Or love's delusive dreams .'' 
"He sought not power, he feared not shame, 

But sighed for Lethean streams. 

*' Forgetfulness ! in vain thy wave 

He prayed to haste and come. 

While onward to the peaceful grave 

He bore the weight of gloom. 
12^ 



262 LITTLE SHELLS. 

Vile slander, with her scorpion tongue, 

At last his name defiled, 
But all too late her darts were flung 

At sorrow's wasting child. 

" His home, enwrapped in dust and mould. 

Is yielding to decay ; 
Yet here till life's last hours are told 

He will return to pray. 
What wonder if his spirit clings 

To haunts where grief doth sleep, 
And here the friendly dust he flings 

O'er hearts no more to weep." 

" And thou art he indeed, my guide — 
Whom fate so strangely led — 

The poet, and the man of pride, 
On early flattery fed ; 

The husband of the fated three — 
Each loved and gifted wife — 



THE THBEE BBIDES. ' 263 

Oh ! vain is weak philosophy 
To stem the ills of life." 

" Away ! away ! I 've told thee all — 

Nor stay to see my tears — 
For thee I 've let the curtain fall 

Which hid the woes of years." 
I left him there, again to tell 

His w^oes to Sorrow's Friend ; 
And thought, Life's Drama, opening well, 

Oft brings a Tragic end. 



264 LITTLE SHELLS. 



9 
THE BATTLE FIELD. 



Rest, soldiers, rest ! The earth is damp 
With many a comrade's blood. 

Who faltered 'mid the battle's tramp, 
And perished while ye stood ; 

But fainting nature pleads for sleep ; 

No time is yours to search, or weep 
For lost ones on the road. 



Rest, soldiers, rest ! May angels guard 

Your slumbers as before ; 
Bring home's green vines by south-winds stirred. 

And rose-trees from the door. 
The gentle mother's low " good night " — 
Sweet wife and children treading light — 

The homestead's hallowed floor. 



THE BATTLE FIELD. 265 

The weary slept ; the wounded turned 

To sunhght's facing glow ; 
Oh, how for morn their bosoms yearned, 

But pitying angels know ; 
As restless, chilled and suffering, 
They heard some far-off footstep ring, 

Or dismal water flow. 

That night, O God ! how long it seemed, 

The moon how slow to set ; 
The stars, all frozen where they beamed, 

At rising, lingering yet ; • 

One dead, dead sea of cold grey light, 
No wavelet rippling o'er its white, 

Their aching vision met. 

'T is morning on the battle field ; 

Chaunt low, ye lips of song ! 
Tread softly where the trumpet pealed 

Defiance to the strong j 
Nor question now these warriors bold, 



2 66 LITTLE SHELLS. 

With death's firm seal on lips so cold, 
If war be right or wroqg ? 

A war horse, proud and sleek as glass, 

Obedient to the rein, 
He softly climbed the mountain pass, 

Or dashed along the plain ; 
He knew his master's kindly eye, 
And rocked him like a lullaby, 

Or whirled him on amain. 

But lo ! upon the morning's breath 
His nostrils gap and close ; 

He struggles \n\{\\ the monster death, 
In faint, expiring throes. 

A head is pillowed on his side — 

Two fresh warm streams together glide- 
Aiud on the crimson flows. 

" Our Charlie " on this knoll of moss ! — 
Sweet face and locks of brown — 



rilE BATTLE FIELD. 267 

One broad red line this brow across, 

The rest as soft as down ; 
A little hand is tightly pressed 
Where throbbed a heart — a childish chest — 

And all as cold as stone. 

Our farmer friend — with eyes of jet, 

Full face and raven locks — 
We saw him clasp his " dear Jeanette ! " 

And lingering view his flocks ; 
Ah ! all but love in death was weak — 
Tears cut the dust on either cheek 

Now bleaching on the rocks. 

A slender frame — a thin sad face — 

Yet blood nor scar is here ; 
The sick man goaded in his place 

By " coward " uttered near, 
Whose feverish pulse and aching head 
For many a weary week had plead 

For home, but none would hear. 



2 68 LITTLE SHELLS, 

And lo ! he fired a few poor rounds, 

AVith feeble hands astrain ; 
Then heard no more the babel sounds 
That rocked the battle plain. 
" Home, home " he whispered, " send me home "- 
" Come home ! " God's angel answered, " come 
Where none shall mock thy pain." 

Our village pet — the drummer lad — 

Who, with a joyous spring, 
Went out to " see the troops parade,'* 

And joined the martial ring. 
Men won him — mex ! unfeeling souls — 
By flattery, to their muster rolls — 



And here he lies — poor thing 



The Irish lad — good news that hailed 
From far Columbia's shore — 

His mother blessed him, as he sailed 
The deep blue ocean o'er. 

His neck yet wears the tiny cross 



THE BATTLE FIELD. 269 

Upon a faded cord of floss 
His little sister wore. 

" A little while ! a little while ! " 
Their grieving lips repeat, 
As o'er the homestead's crumbling stile 
He clambers to the street — 
" A little while ! my mother dear, 
I '11 send for ye another year — " 
Where will that trio meet ? 

Who slumbers here ? the man that years 

Embrowed in glory's wreath — 
Amid his country's deafening cheers 

He was enrolled by death. 
But lo 1 the white lamb of his flock 
Hath met with him the fatal shock — 

Oh ! speak in underbreath ! 

A very child, whose lips and brow 
But " mother's " kiss had known, 



270 



LITTLE SHELLS. 

As pulseless as a drift of snow, 

Beside the stalwart one ; 
The cedar of the household shrine 
Beside the bud — the fragile vine 

Left storm-tossed — all alone ! 

The sun is high. This red, red sea 

By living waves is stirred ; 
They come from every mount and lea — 
The sick of hope deferred ; 
" My father ! " " O, my child ! my child !" 
" My brother ! " rings in anguish wild 
Where comes no answering word. 

" My husband," comes in wailing tones 

From one whose years are few ; 
" My only son ! " a mother moans, 
" I know these eyes of blue ! " 
A father bowed with age and woe, 
Up-lifts a forehead cold as snow, 
And wipes away its dew. 



THE BATTLE FIELD. 271 

God help ye ! one — and help ye all 

When hope's last spark dies out, 
And, homeward bound, your footsteps fall 

Along the dismal route ; 
Or, bearing hence 3'Our precious freight, 
Ye ope again the homestead gate. 

And hang your weeds about. 



Names too obscure for history, 
No marts contend your birth, 

No statue rises where ye lie 
To point the world your worth. 

Mute fibres in the arm of might, 

Unknown ye blent in desperate fight, 
Unknown returned to earth. 



But, rulers in imperial halls 
That wield a nation's rod. 

The private " answered to your calls, 
Obedient unto blood ; 



2 72 LITTLE SHELLS. 

If any drop ye shed in vain 
'T is crying from this battle plain, 
Against ye, to your God. 



LIFE'S CHANGES. 



273 



LIFE'S CHANGES. 

A baby is climbing its mother's knee ; 

Its mother is young and fair ; 
And it dances, and crows in its baby glee, 

And plays with her dark brown hair. 
Its eyes are as violets, soft and blue, 

Its cheek is a pale red rose ; 
Its little garments are costly and new, 

It has broidered shoes and hose. 

A beautiful boy is bounding away, 

With a laugh, o'er the village green ; 
And he wearies not till the sun's last ray 

In the paling west is seen. 
His mother prays as she pillows his head, 

And kisses his pure white brow, 
That her darling's feet may be always led 

In as flowery a path as now. 



274 



LITTLE SHELLS, 

A youth is rejoicing in manhood's light, 

And the strength of a sinewy frame ; 
The goal of his hopes is afar and bright, 

And he sighs for an honored name. 
He patiently bends through the midnight hours 

Over pages of musty lore ; 
Not a cloud, as he sees, in his future lowers, 

All is rosy and bright before. 



A husband is leading a beautiful bride 

To the home of his early years. 
And a matron woman, with joy and pride. 

There blesses them both with tears. 
But a little time, and that mother sleeps. 

In the church-yard, cold and low, 
Where the summer smiles and the autumn weeps, 

All unknown in the city below. 



Fair children have come to his yearning breast, 
And his cup of joy is full; 



LIFE'S CHANGES. 275 

And he seeks to provide for his household nest, 

With a love that is beautiful ! 
But close to the grave where his mother lies, 

Is another green grave made ; 
Another has closed her earthly eyes 

To awake in the realms of shade. 



The laurels upon his brow are green, 

But he feels their tremor with pain ; 
The loved of his youth has said " good e'en," 

And her morning comes never again. 
His children are roaming o'er land and sea. 

And have loves and homes afar ; 
To the mammon of Gold they have bov/ed the knee, 

Or are led by Ambition's star. 



The old man sits at his desolate hearth, 
Whence the fire is almost gone — 

Not a cheerful song, nor a tone of mirth 
Is heard by the lonely one. 



276 LITTLE SHELLS, 

The night wind sweeps through the shivered pines, 
And moans through the driving rain, 

And whistles a tune in the skeleton vines 
Of the time-worn window-pane. 

He bends o'er his shadowy hearth, and grieves, 

And wipes the cold sweat from his brow — 
Hark ! pattering feet 'neath the dripping eaves, 

And his wife's sweet voice so low ! 
His absent children and buried wife 

Come gliding in at the door — 
The sea of death drinks the bubble Life 

And he wakes on the unknown shore. 



WYOMING. 



277 



WYOMING. 

Morning was rosy, beautiful and bright, 
Mantling the hill-tops with a crown of light, 

Gilding the streams ; 
Fast curling upward rolled the smoke away, 
Light-hearted children waked, to shout and play, 

From pleasant dreams. 

Lay God's own Volume open on the stand ; 
Turning its pages with a reverent hand 

Sat the priest-sire ; 
Welled the prayer upward from their hearts to heaven, 
To the Great Father for the rest he'd given. 

For food and fire. 



Hot lay the sun-beams on Wyoming's hills ; 

Sparkled the bubbles on* the clear, bright rills 

Over the river. 
13 



278 LITTLE SHELLS. 

Walked the tree-shadow, as approached the noon ; 
Chanted the river that low, gurgling tune. 
Chanted forever. 

Flitted the shadows lightly o'er the grain ; 
Whistled the farmer, sauntering home again, 

" Home, sweet, home ;" 
Sang the red-robin, in the tree-top high. 
Plucking the cherries of his own July, 

" Summer has come." 

Smiling the matron to the door hath hied ; 
" Rest thee, my husband, till the eventide, 

Come in and rest : 
See ! Susquehannah glimmereth like glass. 
Weary winged zephyrs scarcely stir the grass. 

Fresh from the West. 

" Sheltered, the robin trilleth now her song — 
Rest thee, my husband, love, nor life is long ; 
Toil not, I say ; 



wYOMma. 

Bring thee, our daughter, cooling milk and bread, 
Bring the ripe berries, and the cherries red, 
Gathered to-day." 

Smiling, he thanks them, sitting in the door, 
Prince in his cabin ; he, a serf before, 

Sad and afar. 
Crowing, the baby to the chair creeps up, 
Lifts he the darling ; shares the babe his cup, 

Lisping, "papa." 



279 



Hark: was it thunder? No cloud doth appear- 
Hark ! — 't is the war-hoop, the savage is near ; 

Grasps he the sword. 
Shoulders the rifle, and murmurs " Farewell ! " 
Louder the fireing, more dismal the yell — 

" Trust in the Lord." 

Neighbors are arming, and fighting, and flying, 
Mothers and children together are crying, 
Brother meets brother ; 



28o LITTLE SHELLS. 

Merciless brother, his brother to slay — 

Born of one mother, and foeman to-day, 

Oh, God ! of one mother ! 

Flashes the rifle, and whizzeth the ball, 
Praying and cursing, together they fall, 

Weltering in gore ; 
Mothers and infants and beautiful girls — 
Streams the red life-current fast thro' their curls, 

Over the floor. 

Red rain is sprinkled o'er flower-bed and road, 
Carnage is weary of terror and blood ; 

Setteth the sun ; 
Chanteth the river a funeral hymn 
Over the sleepers whose vision is dim, 

Whose life-work is done. 

Comes in the West-wind, and plays with the hair 
Of the baby that crept to its father's chair 
At the hot noon-tide ; 



WYOJUXG. 

Lingers around them a holy spell — 
Mother and maiden and babe — 't is well — 
Thus a Holier died. 

Flashes a light over midnight's brow ; 
Cottage and field are consuming now ; 

Wyoming, 
Ringeth thy hills Vvith the orgies dire 
Of the savage fiends o'er their midnight fire, 

As they dance and sing. 



2»I 



Poet, thy dreamings are not all ideal ; 
Many a " Gertrude," living, loving, real, 

More sadly fell. 
Oh ! day of terror, and oh, night of sorrow ! 
From fancy's realm we have no need to borrow, 

If truth we tell. 

Time, with his bleak winds, hath the valley swept, 
Sunshine has bleached them, and the clouds have v/ept 
The stains away ; 



282 



LJTTLE L< HELLS. 

Haply the farmer here his f^^rain cloth gather, 
Beauty and love dwell here again together, 
And Christians pray. 

But until earth's last field is ploughed and sown. 
Her last sheaf bound, the last green meadow mown, 

History will bring 
Tales of the martyrs of the long ago — 
Brave hearts, yet peaceful, as thy river's flow. 

Fair Wyoming ! 



HONOll OF LABOB, 283 



HONOR OF LABOR, 

You talk of the " honor of labor/' 

Looking down from your windows so high 
On the sun-darkened brow of your neighbor, 

With a very benevolent eye ; 
You tell him that " labor is noble," 

As he turns the hard earth with his spade, 
And wealth is a troublesome bauble, 

And fashions and titles v/ill fade. 

You stand in the glow of the forges, 

And talk of the iron and steam, 
You sing of the snow3Mvinged barges 

Which flit o'er the main and the stream ; 
You tell him his strength is Herculean, 

That the muscles stand out in his arm 
Like the belts of the upper cerulean. 

Which border the skirts of the storm. 



284 LITTLE SHELLS, 

You praise his huge hand as he hfts it. 

To fall in its terrible might ; 
The ore waxing hard as he shifts it, 

The stars waxing pale in the night ; 
You talk of the steed never weary, 

Which mocks at both rider and rein, 
And bid him be patient and cheery, 

Who ironed his path o'er the plain. 

You call him your '' friend " and your " brother," 

As you shrink from his touch with your glove, 
And haste from that " hell " ere you smother, 

Leaving him to wax cool with your love ; 
You inhale the pure breeze, and are thankful 

You can go when you please and can come ; 
And count over your treasures, a bank full. 

As vou sit on vour cushions at home. 



Yes labor is honest and comely 

To the drones which the honev devour, 



HONOB OF LABOE. 

But labor is care-worn, and homely 

To the bees which improve every hour ; 

And Labor oft feels in his pocket — 

He is fond of good " dinners " and " teas j " 

And his patience goes off like a rocket, 
When he can 't get a moment of ease. 



AVould you think of the " honor of labor " 

If your back like a rainbow were bent ? 
You V forget your nobility — neighbor — 

When your landlord was clamoring for rent ; 
You 'd forget the renown of the " order " 

Of labor's rag-liveried sons, 
When the constable stepped o'er the border 

Of home, with his "writs" and his duns. 



Labor thinks of his wife and his mother, 

How they tug at the needle and loom ; 

He longs, 'mid the clatter and smother 

Of the forge, for the pleasures of home ; 
13* 



285 



286 LITTLE SHELLS. 

He thinks of the children that love him. 
Untaught, and uncared for at times ; 

And he hates the proud nabobs above him, 
Who pay him more flattery tha?i dwies. 



DEACON HEZEKIAH. 287 



DEACON HEZEKIAH. 

O, Hezekiah 's a pious soul ! 

With his phiz as long as a hickory pole, 

And he would n't smile if you 'd give him the whole 

Of the gold in California ; 
There he is, like a cloud, in his Sunday pew. 
With his book in his hand, in his long-tailed blue, 
And you M better take care or he '11 look you through, 

With a glance that says, " I scorn you," 

He is very straight, and narrow, and tall, 
From his crown to the hem of his overall ; 
And he sings the psalm with a woeful drawl, 

And a mouth like a clam's when it 's crjqng ; 
But when Monday comes, he is up with the sun. 
His religion is over, his work begun, 
And you 'd think that there was n't a world but one, 

And he had n't a thought of dying. 

% 



288 LITTLE SHELLS. 

You would think he was sorry he 'cl lost a day, 
As he rushes and rattles and drives away, 
As he gives the poor orphan a crusty " nay," 

And the widow a vinegar greeting ; 
And he bargains, and sells, and collects his rent, 
Nor tears nor petitions can make him relent, 
Till he gets in his pocket each doubtful cent. 

Though he would 't be seen a cheating ! 

And Tuesday, and Wednesday, and all the week, 
He does n't know Gentile, nor Jew, nor Greek, 
Nor care whom he robs of the last beef-steak, 

Nor the last poor hope of fire ; 
But Hezekiah is pious, very ! 
For who in the world ever saw him merry ? 
And he looks as forlorn as a dromedar)'-, 

And his voice, of itself, is a choir. 



BEV. JOHN ELLIOT. 289 



REV. JOPIN ELLIOT PREACHING TO THE 
AMERICAN INDIANS. 



No roof was o'er him but the arching sky, 
No floor beneath him but the swelling turf; 

His temple pillars were the mountains high, 
His organ music was the sounding surf. 



His calm eye rested on the low-browed squaws 

And shaven scalps that flecked the emerald sward, 

While boldly taught he great Jehovah's laws, 
And told the story of our risen Lord. 



Proud Sachems listened to the wondrous tale, 
And dusky maidens gave an eager ear ; 

The stern lip quivered, and the cheek waxed pale 
That ne'er before was traversed by a tear. 



290 



LITTLE SHELLS. 

Unselfish herald of the holy cross, 

Meek sufferer for His sake who died for all, 

Uncounted ever was thy gain or loss, 
Resigned to linger, and prepared to fall. 

To linger on in hunger, heat or cold, 

To toil for aye through weary nights and days, 

If but one wanderer from his Master's fold 
Might be in-gathered to His lasting praise. 

He did not seek the pomp and pride of earth, 
Nor yearned his spirit for the wreath of fame, 

He deemed them all but poor and little worth, 
Weighed in the balance with eternal shame. 



THE GREENHOVSE PLANT. 291 



THE GREENHOUSE PLANT. 

Into life the young leaves crept, 
April smiled and April wept ; 

Then came May ; 
Singing songs of love and mirth, 
Spring went dancing o'er the earth, 

Blithe and gay ; 
Saying : " Let your hearts be light, 
Morn is pleasant, noon is bright. 
Care, good day." 

Summer came with deeper bloom. 
Brighter colors crossed her loom ; 

With liberal hand, 
Strewed she blessings far and wide 
Where so 'er the earth-born bide ; 
To every land 



292 



LITTLE SHELLS. 

Walked she forth with stately tread, 
Rainbows circling round her head, 
Calm and bland. 

Blossoms, purple, red and gold, 
At her genial touch unfold ; 

Luscious fruit, 
Tasseled corn and waving grain, 
Greet the sunshine and the rain, 

Where treads her foot ; 
All the sustenance of life, 
All with shade or beauty rife, 

Take form and root. 



Change again o'er earth hath passed, 
Graceful Summer goes at last, 

With weary feet. 
And a face of paler hue. 
Gazing, pensive, on the blue, 

In slow retreat. 



THE GJREENIIOVSE PLANT. 

Musing on the vines and flowers, 
Death-doomed, Hngering in her bowers, 
Frail and sweet. 



Lo ! the grain is in the sheaves, 
Ruder breezes swee^D the leaves ; 

One by one 
Fall they, rustling o'er the ground, 
And we hear a wailing sound — 

Summer's gone ; 
Autumn with a statelier mien, 
Russet robe, and golden sheen, 

Fills her throne. 



Regal Autumn bov'/s to death ; 
Winter comes with icy breath — 

King is he. 
On he comes, with hail and rain 

Rattling on the window-pane 
Merrily ; 



293 



294 



LITTLE SHELLS, 

Spreading snow-sheets on the hill, 
Locking up the lake and rill, 
Ruthless]}'. 

Only one doth scorn his power, 
She, a little fragile flower, 

A wee-bit thing; 
Peeping from her house of glass, 
Smiles to see the ruffian pass. 

Saying : " King ! 
Blow and whistle, storm and rant, 
Catch me if you can — you can 't — 

I'm safe till Spring." 



TO AX INKNOWX FlilEND. 295 



TO AN UNKNOWN FRIEND. 

In vain for thy image with yearning I call ; 
Thou hast set for no portrait in memory's hall, 
But the voice of thy spirit hath spoken to mine, 
And I 've answered its meaning in whispers to thine. 

I know not if thy forehead is white as the snow, 
While thine eye, like the eagle's, is flashing below ; 
If thy locks like the midnight are swept by the wind, 
If they 're silvered by time, or by agony thinned. 

But I know that thy soul to its mission is true 
As the seraph's that flits o'er the face of the blue ; 
And thy love-gifts are scattered, as globules of glass, 
At the feet of the heartless, who crush them and pass. 

For the lot of the gifted is on thee ; to cling 

To the hopes v.'hich are hollow as blossoms of spring, 



296 LITTLE SHELLS. 

Though a thousand betray thee, another to trust, 
Till thy idols are numerous as atoms of dust. 

The world hath dealt hardly, my brother, with thee ; 
For an under-toned anguish hath spoken to me, 
In the voice of thy harp-strings, which grieve as they wake, 
And the heart which doth sweep them is ready to break. 

As the mother bends over the babe while it sleeps, 
As the lover bends over the loved one that weeps, 
As the sister draws near to the brother, bereft 
Of the dear one that slept in his bosom and left. 

As aftection bends over the bosom that 's crossed 

By the whirlwind of passions, to save it, ere lost, 

I would soothe thy wrung spirit by sympathy's balm, 

Till thy night-dreams are sweet, and thy day-dreams are calm. 

For the kindred of spirit in spirit may meet, 
Though the life-paths be severed which ring with their feet, 
And the voice of thy soul may yet whisper to mine, 
While I answer its meaning in whispers to thine. 



DUSTY CALIFORNIA. 



297 



DUSTY CALIFORNIA. 

I sit in a dusty corner, 

Of a dusty, though dusted hotel, 
And never felt folorner, 

With so dusty a story to tell. 

I rise, with my arms akimbo, 
. And gaze on the dusty street, 
And under the dusty window 
Walk men with their dusty feet. 

The dusty women are trailing 
Their skirts on the dusty way, 

Their dusty flounces sailing 
O'er gaiters dusty and gray. 

The dusty urchins are strolling 
A.long to the dusty schools, 



298 LITTLE SHELLS. 

And dusty vehicles rolling, 
Are drafted by dusty mules. 

The trees are dusty and sombre, 
The meadows like dusty straw; 

The flov.'ers in the garden yonder 
Are the dustiest ever I saw. 

Dust, dust from the roof to the cellar 

From the church-steeple down to the pave 

There is nothing so white but it 's yellow, 
And nothing so gay but it 's grave. 

Dust, dust over hillside and prairie. 

Dust, dust throughout Aprils and Junes, 

With an August as hot as Sahara, 

And September winds hot as simoons. 

If ever I see California 

From the veil of her dustiness free, 
Of the absence of dust I '11 inform ye. 

And the things then apparent to me. 



HOME TO THE SICK. 



299 



HOME TO THE SICK. 

The invalid sits in a cushioned chair, 

In a richly furnished room ; 
Through graceful drapery steals the air 

With its soft ^'Eolian tune ; 
White fingers have parted his raven locks, 

And smoothed them over his brow. 
And the faithful nurse on tiptoe walks — • 

What more could he have just nov/ ? 

The skillful physician comes smiling in, 

. And pronounces the danger passed, 

As he counts the beats in his wrist so thin, 

Saying ; " Science has triumphed at last." 
But the invalid thinks of that distant fold, 

Where friendship v/as never bought. 
And the voice of the stranger sounds harsh and cold. 

For he knows that he loves him not. 



300 



LITTLE SHELLS. 

He thinks of his mother, who, far away, 

Doth pray for her absent child, 
Or his owai sweet w^ife, who day by day 

Hath w^ept, till she's almost wild. 
And he turns with distaste from the morsel sweet, 

Which is brought by the nurse's hand. 
And yearns for the hour when his weary feet 

May turn back to his native land. 

Oh, the wildest paths of the wide, wide world. 

With our hurrying steps may ring ; 
We may shout where a flag w^as never unfurled, 

The name of our country and king. 
In classic groves we may proudly tread, 

And our home be the world as we roam ; 
But when flutters the pulse and swims the head. 

We have but one dear little home. 



LIBRARY OF CONGREbb 

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016 117 583 6 



